


Missing

by Clowns_or_Midgets



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-10-19 07:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 94,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10635468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clowns_or_Midgets/pseuds/Clowns_or_Midgets
Summary: Charlie beat the Wicked Witch but something is wrong.Ezekiel: "Wherever he is, I cannot reach him. Sam is lost."





	1. Chapter 1

“My body cannot hurt you, Dorothy,” Sam intoned.

“But theirs can.” Dean could feel the influence of the witch, making his jaw work without his direction and the words pass from his lips, but he couldn’t stop it. He was like a puppet with someone else working the strings as his hand slipped into his pocket and pulled out the demon knife.

Sam grabbed Dorothy and pinned her in front of him as Dean brought the tip of the knife to her throat. In his mind he shouted, _“Dorothy, run! She’ll kill you!”_ but no words came from him. He slowly pressed down with the knife, then, as fast as it had come, the feeling passed and he was stepping back, panting hard.

Dorothy swiped a hand over her nose and glanced at the blood coating her palm.

“Damn, are you okay?” Dean asked.

“Just fine, thanks to Charlie.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Charlie!”

He pulled his gun and ran out of the garage and through the bunker into the library. He could see Sam at his side and hear Dorothy behind them, but he didn’t speak to either of them; his thoughts were consumed with Charlie. If she was hurt again… If she was… She was just a kid with no business being around them and the danger they were shrouded in, let alone hunting. She had saved his life once already today, something she should never have been in a position to do. She had to be okay.

As he sprinted into the war room, he called her name, and she appeared at the balcony, a red heel in her hand and a wide, satisfied smile on her face. “Ding dong, bitches.”

Dean sighed with relief and turned to Sam to share a smile. He expected to see happiness, relief, maybe some of the same frustration he himself felt that Charlie had been forced to make the kill, but Sam looked oddly vague, as if he wasn’t all the way there. As if he wasn’t himself.

Charlie came clattering down the stairs and into Dorothy’s open arms, chattering a mile to a minute about how she had killed the witch. Dorothy was expounding her thanks and Charlie was beaming at her. Dean glanced back to Sam and was annoyed to see it wasn’t Sam’s awareness in the eyes. It was Ezekiel’s. The angel needed to disappear before Charlie realized something was wrong.

“So,” Charlie asked, bouncing up to Dean and grinning. “Not bad for a newbie, right?”

“You were awesome,” Dean said, internally willing Sam to step up and say something. “Really. Saved our asses, right, Sammy?” 

“Yes,” came the dutiful reply. Dean closed his eyes a moment, cursing the stilted quality to Sam’s voice as he was controlled by the angel. “Dean, I need to talk to you.”

Charlie frowned. “Are you okay, Sam? Did she hurt you?”

“Yes,” Ezekiel said. “I need Dean to check something.”

“I can help,” Charlie offered. “I got myself emergency aid certified before I went hunting—thought it would be helpful.”

“No, thank you,” Ezekiel said stiffly, walking away.

“We’ll be right back,” Dean said hurriedly. “You two grab the beers.”

He hurried after Ezekiel up the steps and through the side corridor to the bedrooms area. When they were out of earshot, Ezekiel turned and said, “We have a problem.”

“Yeah we do,” Dean said angrily. “Why are you still here? I appreciate the help and all, but now would be a good time for you to give me my brother back.”

“I cannot give him back,” Ezekiel said.

Dean scowled. “Of course you can. You just duck back inside, get to work fixing him up, and let Sam talk. I’ve already got a helluva lot of explaining to do to Charlie and Dorothy. You’re going to need to do something for Sam, too, maybe go lie down so we can say he was knocked out or something. He can’t just wake up here with the witch dead when last thing he’ll remember is being possessed by her.”

“I cannot do that,” Ezekiel said.

“Why the hell not?” Dean growled. “Go already! Give me my damn brother back!”

Looking pinched and annoyed, Ezekiel said, “Very well, but remember you asked for this.” His eyes rolled back and he crumpled to the floor like a marionette whose strings were cut. Dean was frozen in place, unable to do a thing to ease his brother’s descent to the floor. Sam landed hard, his head making a sickening thunk on the hard floor. The sound broke Dean’s inertia. “Sam!” He dropped to his knees beside him and patted his cheek hard. “Sammy! Come on, man, wake up, now. Sam?”

Sam’s head rolled against Dean’s palm but that was the only movement. He was otherwise almost perfectly still. Dean pressed hand to his throat, his fingers finding Sam’s pulse point. He breathed out shakily when he felt the thrum of life there. His hand fell on Sam’s chest and he watched as it rose and fell in time with Sam’s breaths.

“Wake up!” he said in his most commanding voice.

“Dean, we couldn’t find the beer. Did we already… Sam!” Charlie appeared in Dean’s line of sight, her face pale and worried. “What’s going on?” she asked.

Dean didn’t answer, as he had no answer to give. He didn’t know what was going. He just knew his brother was unconscious.

“Dammit,” he whispered. The whole situation was out of control and his worry for Sam was paramount. He grabbed Sam’s shoulders and shook him. “Sammy!”

“Dean, don’t!” Charlie said harshly. “You could make it worse.” She knelt on Sam’s other side and checked Sam’s pulse, nodding to herself. She pulled back his eyelid and a flicker of fear crossed her face before she schooled it into neutrality again. Dean had seen it too, though. His pupil was blown.

“Did he have a head injury?” she asked, her voice tempered by worry.

“No…I mean, yeah…I mean, he hit his head when he dropped. But he was okay before that.”

“He said he was hurt,” Dorothy said, hovering behind Charlie.

“Yeah, that was…” Dean blew out a breath. “That was something different.”

“He needs a doctor,” Dorothy said.

“No!” Dean said harshly. “We can’t take him to a hospital.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“We can’t move him,” Dean said, grappling for an excuse. “And we can’t have them come here.”

“I know the Men of Letters valued this as a secret base, but your brother appears to be seriously injured,” Dorothy said, sounding a little shocked.

Dean huffed a laugh. He didn’t care about secrets. If he thought it would help Sam, he’d carry him to a hospital, but that would mean scans and x-rays, and they would see the sheer amount of damage to Sam’s body that Ezekiel was healing up. 

Charlie looked up into Dean’s eyes and said, “Dean, you need to talk to me. I can help, but only if you’re honest with me. What are you hiding?”

Dean knew it was over. As he looked down at his brother’s lax face, he realized it was time to come clean. He couldn’t carry the secret alone anymore.

He sat back on his haunches and said loudly and firmly, “Zeke! Come back, please.”

Sam’s eyes opened and light flashed in them before they returned to Sam’s unique color. For a moment, Dean hoped it was Sam he could see in them, but then he spoke and Dean’s hopes were dashed. “I told you, Dean.”

He got smoothly to his feet, leaving Dean and Charlie kneeling, and rubbed a hand over the back of his head. Dean and Charlie scrambled up and Charlie pointed a shaking finger at Ezekiel. “Who the hell is that? That’s not Sam.”

“That’s… Zeke,” Dean said reluctantly.

“Ezekiel,” he corrected. “Nice to meet you, Charlie Bradbury.”

Charlie just gaped at him for a moment before getting herself under control again and saying, “If that’s not Sam, why does it look like him? Are you a shapeshifter?”

“No,” Ezekiel said, sounding disapproving. “I am an Angel of the Lord.”

Charlie turned her furious gaze on Dean. “What the frick is happening now?” Her fury faltered to fear. “Is that… Lucifer?”

“Lucifer!” Dorothy gasped.

“No!” Dean and Ezekiel answered at the same time, and then Dean went on. “I swear, Charlie, it’s not him.”

Charlie looked only slightly relieved. “Then what is he doing in Sam?” she asked

“Saving his life,” Ezekiel said mildly.

“What’s wrong with him?” Charlie asked worriedly.

“Massive internal injuries, burned vital organs, almost complete brain death,” Ezekiel listed dispassionately.

Charlie paled further and Dorothy took her hand and squeezed it. “What happened to him?” Charlie asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” Dean said briskly, turning to Ezekiel. “What’s wrong with him now? Why did he collapse? That wasn’t like anything what happened when you cured Cas or Charlie. Why didn’t he wake up again? Why did he look…?” Like he was dying. Dean thought it but didn’t dare vocalize the question. 

“Because that was Sam without my influence,” Ezekiel said.

“You telling me I’ve spent the last month talking with you and not Sam?” Dean asked angrily. “No, I don’t believe it. I know my brother and I know the difference.”

“No,” Ezekiel said. “When I have withdrawn before, it has always been Sam in control.”

“Then why isn’t he in control now?” Dean demanded.

“I don’t know.” Ezekiel sighed. “When the witch possessed us, both Sam and I were pushed down by her influence. I could see and feel what was happening, but I couldn’t control it. When the influence disappeared, when your friend killed the witch, I felt for Sam to check on his wellbeing.” He looked strained. “I couldn’t find him.”

“What?” Dean said, his voice rising to a shout. “What do you mean ‘find him’? Isn’t he just… there?”

“Ordinarily, yes. He is always ready to return to the forefront, but I have not been able to locate him this time. He’s just… absent.”

“Well, look harder!” Dean shouted. “You have to find him!”

Ezekiel looked impatient. “Do you think I do not know that?”

“Then do it!” Charlie commanded. “I’m sure you’re a nice enough angel, but we need Sam, not you.”

“Very well,” Ezekiel said. “Would you like to start immediately, or shall we take Sam somewhere more comfortable while I search? I don’t want to heal another fractured skull in addition to his other injuries.”

“Fractured skull!” Charlie winced. Dorothy squeezed her hand again.

Ezekiel didn’t waste any more time with words. He just turned away and walked to Sam’s bedroom. The bed was still wrinkled from where they’d sat watching Game of Thrones. There was a half-empty popcorn bowl on the chair and beer bottles on the floor. It was like a moment suspended in time, as if the room was waiting for them to come back to enjoy themselves again. Them: Dean, Charlie and Sam, not Ezekiel.

Ezekiel perched on the edge of the bed and said, “I will return as soon as I can,” before closing his eyes.

Sam collapsed back, his eyes closed and his expression as lax as it had been before. Dean hurried over to him and brought his legs up to the bed, adjusting him so he looked more comfortable, even though Dean knew he was beyond discomfort.

“He’s going to be a while, right?” Charlie asked.

“Maybe,” Dean said. He hoped not. He wanted his brother back already.

“Then we have time for you to tell me what the frick is going on!” Charlie said.

Dean sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed beside Sam. His eyes moved over his brother for a moment before Charlie came to sit beside him. She laid a hand on his leg and Dean started to tell the tale.

“You remember when you saw Sam last time?”

“When he was sick you mean?” she asked.

“Yeah. The trials. Well, he got worse after you saw him. By the end…” He sucked in a breath as he remembered. “He was dying, Charlie. The last trial was supposed to kill him, so I stopped him doing it. He was still so sick though, and I was so scared. I drove him to the hospital, sure he was going to die right beside me any minute. I was planning in my mind what to do even as I was driving as fast as I could to save him. Then, when we got to the hospital, the doctors told me he _was_ dying. There was nothing they could do for him. Like Zeke said, there were these internal burns and his brain was… He was going at any moment, so I prayed. I sent up an all angels prayer and Zeke came. He said he could help, but some shit went down, and by the time I got back to them, Sam was slipping away. Zeke said there was only one way to save him, and that was if he possessed him—worked on healing him from within.”

“Sam let another angel in?” she said sounding stunned. “But… if he was that sick, how did he say yes?”

“I tricked him. Zeke kinda mind merged me with Sam, and I saw him. He was almost gone, Charlie. Death was there, and Sam was about to go into the light. I begged him, stopped him, and then, when he said yes, Zeke took over and possessed him.”

“Wow,” she breathed. “He must have been so pissed.”

Dean looked away, fixing his eyes on Sam.

“He doesn’t know,” Dorothy said perceptively.

“No,” Dean admitted. “I’ve been lying to him for weeks. He doesn’t have a clue Zeke’s in there.”

Charlie pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Dean…”

“I had no choice!” Dean said angrily. “What would you have done?”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know.”

Dean turned his wrecked gaze on her and remembered a woman in a hospital bed for years, sustained by machines and doctors long past her time. He knew Charlie would have done the same thing as him if she’d had the option.

At that moment, Sam’s eyes opened and Dean felt a thrill of hope. “Sammy?”

“No,” Ezekiel said.

“Where is he?” Dean asked.

Ezekiel sat up and looked at Dean with something like sympathy. “I don’t know, Dean. I cannot find him.”

“He’s really gone?” Charlie asked tremulously.

“Yes,” Ezekiel said. “Wherever he is, I cannot reach him. Sam is lost.”


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter Two_ **

 

“No!” Dean said loudly. “He’s not gone! He can’t be gone!”

“Dean,” Charlie said, her tone soft and consoling.

“No,” he said again. “You don’t understand. I have been here before—Sammy running around without being Sammy—and I am not doing it again. I can’t. This is our flipside, dammit!” He rounded on Ezekiel. “Find him! Now!”

“I can’t,” Ezekiel said impatiently. “Did you not see me trying? Sam is—“

“I swear, if you say he’s gone one more time, I am going to end you.”

Ezekiel raised an eyebrow. Dean was aware it was a futile threat. There was no way to hurt Ezekiel without hurting Sam. But Dean wished there was. He wished he could punch him, vent some of his feelings on the angel that seemed so calm and collected in the face of Dean’s horror.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Ezekiel said. “There is nothing else I can do.”

Dean closed his eyes, summoned calm, and said, “Fine, I’ll find him myself.”

“How are you going to do that?” Ezekiel asked.

“I don’t know yet,” Dean said. “I will find a way though. I always do.”

Charlie looked hopeful. “You have all this magic and books and stuff here, right? Maybe something here has the answer. We could…I don’t know, research.” She bit her lip. “That’s what Sam would do, and what Bobby would have done if he was… Oh. Bobby!”

“What about him?” Dean asked.

“In _Dream a Little Dream_ —“

“Charlie, those books are a load of bull,“ Dean said irritably.

“Shush,” she said sharply. “I have an idea. In the book, Bobby was trapped in a kind of coma, right? And you and Sam got through to him by using African Dream Root. You found him trapped inside himself. Maybe you can…”

“Yes!” Dean said eagerly. “Charlie, you’re a genius.”

“I know,” she said with a small smile. “You guys have Dream Root in that lab, right?”

“Yeah! It’s what we used to get you out of that Djinn nightmare, too.”

He ran out of the room and along the corridor to the working area of the bunker. His heart was racing in his chest. This had to be it. He would find Sam and bring him back. The hell with what Ezekiel said about him being gone. Sam was just lost for a while. Dean would show him the way out. He would surely be able to find Sam where Ezekiel couldn’t because he knew him better than anyone on earth.

He got to the lab and immediately began to search the shelves of labeled jars and boxes for Dream Root.

“This will not work, Dean,” Ezekiel’s dour voice spoke behind him. “If I cannot find him…”

“I will,” Dean said doggedly. “You might be an angel with all kinds of power, but I am a Winchester and Sam’s my brother. I will save him because that is what we do.” 

He turned back to the shelf and found what he was seeking. A neatly labeled jar filled with stringy roots. He snatched it down and carried it over to the basin. He took a beaker from the shelf and half filled it with water. Charlie unscrewed the lid of the jar and held it out to Dean. He carefully extracted a piece of root and dropped it into the water. It turned the water an unattractive, murky khaki.

“That does not look tasty,” Charlie said, wrinkling her nose.

“Nope,” Dean said. “It’s disgusting, but it’s all I’ve got.” He turned to Ezekiel and said, “Ante up some hair then.”

“I am telling you, Dean, this will not work,” he said tersely.

“Shut up and give me the hair.”

Ezekiel sighed heavily as he brought a hand up to his temple. He plucked a few strands of hair and held them out to Dean who extended the beaker. Ezekiel dropped them into the water and then brushed his hands on the leg of his pants.

Dean brought the beaker to his mouth but Charlie caught his arm before he could even take a sip.

“Charlie, dammit!”

“Cool your jets,” she said. “I am not stopping you. I was just thinking you might want to be somewhere other than standing on concrete before you drop like a stone. In the book, Carver Edlund said you lost consciousness pretty quickly.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Dean felt stupid for not thinking of it earlier. He left the room and made his way out of the working area of the bunker, through the library where Dorothy was waiting perched on the edge of the table, and back into the sleeping quarters. He went into Sam’s room and sat on the edge of the empty bed. Charlie came in behind him, looking eager, and Ezekiel trailed her.

Dean drew a breath and brought the beaker to his lips again.

“Dean,” Charlie said tentatively.

Dean glanced at her. “Yes?”

“What are you going to tell him when you get him back? I mean, he’s going to want to know what happened. One minute he’s possessed by the Wicked Witch and the next he’s… here.”  

Dean considered, his hands tightening into fists. He could cover the change and time lapse by telling Sam there were unforeseen complications with the witch’s possession and he was unconscious for a while, or he could be honest at last. Make Sam understand how bad it had been, how close he had come to losing him and what he had been forced to do to save him. He could persuade him to leave Zeke where he was until he was healthy enough to live without an angelic life support. It was a risk, but he thought it was a risk he was going to have to take.

“The truth,” he said. “It’s about time, don’t you think?”

Charlie nodded, her expression solemn. “I do.”

Dean brought the beaker to his lips for the third time and took a gulp of it. He grimaced as the foul taste hit his tongue and then he felt the beaker being plucked from his hand as he fell backwards on the bed.

xXx

The room was vaguely familiar to Dean though he had only visited it twice, and one of those times it had been in the process of being consumed by flames. There were no flames there now though. The comfortable living room was bathed in the light of dawn coming through the unshaded windows, and outside Dean could hear birds. The thing that held his interest was Sam, though. It was his brother as he had known him long years ago, with shorter hair, a softer face and unhaunted eyes. This was him as he had been the day Dean had pulled him from his apartment in Palo Alto to come search for his father.

This was Sam at Stanford.

He was sitting at a table with books spread across it and a notepad covered with writing in Sam’s neat hand. Dean watched as Sam pulled a book closer and flipped through the pages, searching for something. Finding it, he tapped his pen against the page and read quickly, his eyes darting back and forth almost manically.

Dean recognized the tableau as he had seen it more than a hundred other times in his life hunting with Sam. Usually it was books of lore he was poring over and John Winchester’s journal. He would get that same intense look in his eyes and he would work for as long as it took to get the information he needed, forgetting the world around him until he had found it or until someone forced him to stop and rest. From the shadows under his eyes and the empty coffee cups Dean could see among the books, no one had stopped this Sam for a while. He needed someone to take care of him.

The thought jolted Dean. _He_ was the one supposed to take care of him. That was why he was here; he was supposed to be getting Sam back.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, Sam, we need to talk.”

For all the reaction Sam gave, he might not have spoken at all. Sam leaned back in his chair and tapped his pen against his teeth—an annoying habit Dean had got him to quit after a couple years’ effort—thinking hard.

“Sam!” Dean said harshly, moving closer to his brother. “Snap out of it, man. I need you to hear me.” When Sam continued to stare thoughtfully across the room, Dean stepped into his view and clapped his hands together. “Sam! Look at me.”

Sam seemed to see right through him. He gave no sign that he was aware of anyone else in the room. He bent over his books again and began to read. Dean sighed as he went to the table and reached to pull the book away. He couldn’t seem to though. His fingers moved through the book as if it was made of smoke.

“Dammit!” he shouted.

Sam’s head snapped up then and a smile curled his lips.

“Sam?” Dean said. “You heard that, right?”

He obviously couldn’t see Dean still, as Dean was waving a hand in front of his face, but he must have heard or sensed something. “Sam!” Dean shouted. “Wake up! I know you can hear me. This is a dream. You need to… Crap.”

He hadn’t heard Dean. He had heard someone else. Dean could hear it too now, soft footsteps coming from the room behind him.

Had he given it any thought, he would have known who was coming. He was consumed with his brother, though, so when she walked into the room, hair sleep tousled and eyes drowsy, Dean was shocked at the sight of Sam’s first love, the woman whose death had come close to destroying him completely.

“Jess,” he sighed.

Sam turned to her as she entered and his smile grew and he held out a hand to her. She took it and gave it a squeeze. “Did you sleep at all, baby?” she asked him.

“Sleep’s for freshmen,” he replied easily. “Besides, I need to nail this stuff if I’m going to pass my LSAT.”

She sighed heavily. “You do need to know it, but you also need to be awake to take the tests. You’re going to be fried if you don’t rest.”

Sam tried and failed to stifle a yawn behind his hand.

“See?” Jessica said pointedly. “Come on. You’ve still got time before your first class. You can catch a couple hours sleep.”

Sam shook his head. “I’ve got to—”

“Sleep.” She finished his sentence firmly.

“Okay,” Sam sighed. “Okay, you’re right.”

She tugged on his hand and Sam let her pull him to his feet. He wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace and kissed her hair.

“What would I do without you?” he asked in a musing tone.

She grinned. “Crash and burn.” She pulled back to look him in the eyes. “Luckily, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?” Sam asked.

“Promise,” she vowed. “You and me are forever, baby.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. He had been entranced by the scene in front of him and hadn’t been able to even attempt to break his brother’s moment of happiness in memory, but as Jessica led him into the bedroom, he knew he needed to act. He stepped in front of them and clapped his hands. “Sam! Jess! You have to see me.”

They walked right through him as if he was a ghost. Though he shouted and waved his arms, neither of them paid him a moment’s attention. He watched as Sam flopped down onto the bed and punched his pillow into shape. Jess covered him with a blanket and sat down beside him. Sam closed his eyes and his expression softened as Jess ran her hand through his hair, gently soothing him into sleep.

It took only a minute for Sam’s breaths to slow, oblivious to Dean’s desperate attempts to reach him. Dean watched as Sam succumbed to sleep and then gasped as the room around him shimmered and faded, sweeping away Sam and Jess and leaving Dean in darkness.

When the room reformed, it was the same one that Dean had just been in with Sam and Jess, only it was the full dark of night now and Sam was lying at the foot, dressed still in his coat and boots. His eyes were closed and his expression was happy, satisfied; in his hand there was a cookie.

The cookie jogged something in Dean’s memory, something he had heard a long time ago. A laughing voice crowing, _“She was baking cookies.”_ It was what the demon Brady had told them about the night he killed Jessica. Dean knew then what he was going to see. He dragged his eyes upwards and gasped. Jessica was pinned to the ceiling, a bloody stain on her stomach and wide, agonized eyes.

“No!” It was Sam’s voice that ripped through the room. As if his exclamation was the cue, the ceiling erupted in flames, engulfing Jessica and billowing down toward Sam. Dean rushed at him, determined to protect though he was incorporeal here, but someone else was already there. He heard his own voice shouting Sam’s name and then he was there, dragging Sam from the bed and forcing him bodily from the room, even as Sam fought and struggled against him. The fire rushed after them, as if it was herding them out. The fire rushed over Dean but he felt no heat; he just heard a rushing in his ears and then felt a disconcerting sensation as the room and fire disappeared, casting him into a new scene.

xXx

Sam was pacing back and forth on the worn carpet of a grungy motel room, hands stuffed in his pockets. John Winchester sat at the table. Sam was tense, waiting for something, and Dean guessed from his absence in the memory it was him.

John watched him for a moment and then said, “Sammy.”

Sam turned, his expression guarded. “Yeah.”

In contrast to Sam, John’s expression was softer. “I don't think I ever told you this but… The day you were born, you know what I did?”

“No.”

“I put a hundred bucks into a savings account for you. I did the same thing for your brother. It was a college fund. And every month I'd put in another hundred dollars, until... Anyway my point is, Sam, this is never the life that I wanted for you.”

“Then why'd you get so mad when I left?”

John’s eyes were sad as he said, “You gotta understand something. After your mother passed, all I saw was evil, everywhere. And all I cared about was keeping you boys alive. I wanted you prepared, ready. Except somewhere along the line, I stopped being your father and I became your drill sergeant. So when you said that you wanted to go away to school, all I could think about, my only thought was, that you were gonna be alone. Vulnerable. Sammy, it just... it never occurred to me what you wanted. I just couldn't accept the fact that you and me — we're just different.”

Whatever Sam replied was lost as Dean snorted. Sam and their father weren’t different. They were two carbon copies of each other. Always had been. That was why they had butted heads so often.  

He looked back at his brother and saw something softer in his expression now. It was as if a small flame had been lit behind his eyes, something hopeful.

Dean had never questioned that his father cared for him. He had always known, without words, that he was loved. It had never occurred to him that Sam might doubt that. In that last awful fight, the night Sam left them for Stanford, some terrible things had been said. Did Sam go away thinking John didn’t care? Did Sam believe he had meant those terrible things he had said? Seeing the hope in Sam’s eyes now made him think he had, and only now was he letting himself believe he was loved.

The motel dissolved and became a hospital corridor. Sam was standing by a coffee machine, leaning his head against the wall. Dean struggled to place the scene, but then Sam straightened and Dean saw the cuts on his strained face. This was after the car crash that had almost killed Dean. Sam moved to the coffee machine and fed a bill into the slot and prodded the buttons roughly.

Dean knew what was coming.

He remembered that awful scene in the room where his father died. He remembered the doctors and nurses working to save him, he remembered the abrasive sounds, and he remembered the puddle of coffee on the floor and the crushed cup under someone’s foot. He knew what he was going to see next, and he couldn’t bear it. Sam shouldn’t have to bear it. And after all, wasn’t that the whole point of Dean’s presence in these dreams?

Dean leaned in close to Sam’s ear and bellowed his name. “Wake up! Wake up now! We’re not doing this again, you’re not. I won’t let you. Wake up, Sam!” He waited for some reaction, even a quiver of awareness, but there was nothing. Sam was oblivious to him.

 Sam turned away from the coffee machine, a paper cup in his hand, and walked along the corridor. Dean walked backwards in front of him, waving his arms and shouting Sam’s name, but it didn’t make an iota of difference. Sam didn’t react to his presence at all.

Sam reached their father’s room, and Dean pulled back, away from him. Coward that he was, he couldn’t bear to see his father’s death again. He heard Sam gasp John’s name and then the plunk as the coffee cup fell to the floor. Sam’s words became a shout as he begged for help. Nurses and doctors ran past him and into the room and Sam was thrust out. He ran along the corridor, and Dean knew he was coming to fetch his past self from his own bed. Dean closed his eyes and willed it to be over. He couldn’t live through this again. 

xXx

The new scene was another motel, one that Dean vaguely recognized, though he couldn’t have placed the state let alone town. Sam was sitting on a decrepit-looking easy chair by the TV, and Dean was sprawled on the bed with a bag of popcorn open beside him. On the screen, Jack Nicholson was smashing down a door with an ax. Dean remembered this. It was a few months before the hellhounds came, on one of the rare times they had been able to put the deal to the backs of their minds and just be brothers again. Why Sam would fixate on this ordinary night to remember in his dreams, he didn’t know.

“Hand me the popcorn,” Sam said, reaching across to Dean.

Dean snorted. “No way. You get the chair, I get the snacks.”

Sam sighed long-sufferingly. “I won it fair and square. You picked scissors.”

“You cheated,” Dean argued.

“Dean, you can’t cheat at rock, paper, scissors. Well, I guess someone like Missouri could. But I can’t.”

“How do I know that?” Dean asked. “Your psychic whatever could be more powerful than I know.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sam said. “I am a mind reader and I never told you. While we’re on the subject, you’re a twisted, twisted man who needs to stop picturing middle-aged police chiefs naked. Okay?”

Dean scrambled back on the bed. “Dude, that’s disgusting!”

“You started it, giving me crap about my psychic whatever.”

Dean grimaced. “Disgusting, Sam. You are one disgusting son of a bitch.”

Sam bent over in his seat laughing so hard tears began to stream down his cheeks. Both versions of Dean, his past self and his present, watched with wide, satisfied smiles on their faces. Sam didn’t laugh like this anywhere near enough, less in Dean’s present than the past even. Life had beaten the laughter out of them both.

Dean didn’t try to interrupt Sam’s dream this time. He thought Sam deserved his laughter.

The scene he was thrust into next was sickeningly familiar. If he had had the ability, he would have run from it, but he couldn’t; he was forced to watch it happen.

He tried harder than ever to break through to Sam in this memory: he shouted, clapped his hands together in Sam’s face, swung punches at him even. It did no good. With Sam alongside him, he watched as the clock chimed midnight and the hellhounds came.

The memory for him was one of agony and fear that was blurred around the edges, overtaken by the memories that came after—Hell. He saw now with perfect clarity the way the hounds’ claws raked over him, the mess they made of his body, the torn skin and ruptured organs. He saw it all and winced away from it. The memory was all the worse because of its perfect clarity. This was how Sam remembered it; worse, this was how Sam dreamed of it. How many times had he relived this moment in rest? How many times had he seen his brother die?

As Sam clutched Dean’s ruined body to him, tears wetting his face, Dean swallowed back bile.

“Please hear me, Sam,” he said, kneeling to eye level with his brother. “I need you to hear me and snap out of this. You need to come back.”

Sam gave no sign that he could hear at all.

xXx

Dean knew the way Sam’s mind worked now. He would dream of the best and worst of things, so he was wondering who and what he would come to next. He was stunned, therefore, when he came to the memory of an alley he remembered with perfect clarity. He had to wonder what had gone wrong this time.

Sam was standing with Bobby, a look of tension on Sam’s face and barely concealed horror in Bobby’s. “I'll see ya around, kid,” Bobby said.

Sam nodded. “See ya around.”

That was the worst part of their farewell in Dean’s mind. He remembered his mind crying out at the time, “No! You won’t!” and how hard it had been for him not to drag his brother away from that place, away from the devil and the sacrifice Sam was preparing to make.

Sam and Bobby hugged and when Sam pulled back, Bobby held onto his arms, looking determinedly into his eyes. “He gets in, you fight him tooth and nail, you understand? Keep swinging. Don't give an inch.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam turned to Castiel and held out a hand. “Take care of these guys, okay?”

“That's not possible,” Castiel said solemnly.

“Then humor me,” Sam said a little sadly.

Castiel grimaced. “Oh. I was supposed to lie. Uh... Sure. They'll be fine.”

Sam held up a hand. “Just… just stop talking.”

He turned away from his friends and came to Dean where he stood by the open trunk, the jugs of demon blood stashed inside. He glanced at Dean and said, “You mind not watching this?”

Dean moved closer while his past counterpart walked away. “Stop, Sam!” he shouted. “Wake up. Don’t do this!” He had to stop him because he understood now why he was seeing this. This was Sam’s twisted idea of a good memory. Here he was, with the people he loved, preparing to sacrifice himself to save the world. It was _good_ to him, though it was one of the very worst moments of Dean’s life.

“Sam, please, wake up,” he begged.

Sam reached for a jug and Dean turned away as darkness descended.

When the scene resettled they were in Stull Cemetery. Dean was looking at his own battered and beaten face. Even through the blood and swelling the horror and pain in Dean’s face was easy to see. He was at the point of outright devastation.

Dean flinched as he heard Adam’s voice, deepened by Michael’s presence, shout over the roar of the portal, “Sam! It's not gonna end this way! Step back!”

“You're gonna have to make me!”

“I have to fight my brother, Sam!” Michael shouted. “Here and now! It's my destiny!”

Hating that he had to do it, sickened by it, Dean turned to his brother and saw him spread his arms and tip back into the hole. Michael grabbed for him. Sam caught Michael’s arm and pulled on it, dragging them both into the hole.

There was a roar of sound that hurt Dean’s ears and then an impact that rocked up his legs. He looked around and saw he was in a vast room, no, not a room, a cage. On the floor were two figures, Sam and Adam, and they were cowering away from the pillars of light bowed over them—the archangels in their true forms.

Dean threw himself forward at Sam and reached for his shoulders to shake them. “Sam!” he bellowed. “No! Not this! Wake up! Wake up now! Please! Not this, please!” He punched and pummeled, slapped and clawed, but he moved through Sam without leaving a trace of awareness. All the time he was begging and pleading with Sam to wake up, to stop this, because more than his own fear of what was happening and what he would see, he was terrified of what Sam would feel.

Sam began to scream and Dean felt his own rise in his throat and escape him, then he felt arms on his shoulders, shaking him and a voice in his ear calling his name.  

There was nothingness for a moment, and then a bright light bulb above him and Charlie’s face swimming in his vision.

“Dean! Calm down!” she commanded. “It’s okay. It’s not real. Whatever you’re seeing, it’s just a dream.”

Dean rolled over and buried his face in the blankets, his chest shuddering with quick breaths.

It was not a dream. It was a memory. And Sam was still there.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean was lying with his face pressed against the blankets, and Charlie could not think of a single thing to do to help him. She had never seen him like this before. She had seen him scared; in that hellish djinn induced nightmare, when he had seen Sam as one of the patients they had to protect, he had been afraid, and then, worse, after, when he had come back and seen Sam’s actual state, he had been truly scared. But to see him physically lose control like this was new and frightening.

It had been different to read the books. Though Carver Edlund had painted pictures of what Sam and Dean went through in the books—Sam’s death at the hands of Jake, Dean’s by hellhound, Sam’s dive into the cage—he hadn’t captured this raw emotion she was seeing now. Dean was usually so composed, only giving release to his anger and rare happiness, that this was frightening her. It was like seeing a whole other side to him she didn’t know existed, like she didn’t know him at all.

She knew enough that she shepherded Ezekiel and Dorothy out of the room though to give him some privacy. She thought perhaps she should leave, too, but she couldn’t make herself. She just sat on the edge of the bed in a show of silent support.

After what seemed like a long time, Dean sat up and wiped at his face, facing away from her.

Are you okay?” Charlie asked tentatively.

Dean nodded and drew a deep breath. “Yeah, fine.

Charlie didn’t think he had ever been further from fine, but she didn’t remark on it. She knew Dean would hate that.

He stood and walked out of the room without a backward glance. This was more familiar to her. She knew Dean pulled back when he was overwhelmed, even from Sam. She felt slightly reassured that he was acting like the man she knew again.

She followed him out and along the halls to the library. Walking right past Dorothy and Ezekiel, Dean made straight for the cabinet that housed their liquor. He poured himself a generous measure of whiskey from a crystal decanter and slugged it back. He poured himself a second glass and cradled it against his chest as he dragged his eyes up to Ezekiel.

“Did you see what I saw?” he asked.

“The memories?” Ezekiel asked.

“Yes. Does he… Do you see that stuff a lot?”

Ezekiel nodded, his expression somber. “He dreamed and thought of those things often.”

Dean winced. Charlie wondered what it was he had seen, but she didn’t ask. She didn’t think Dean would want to tell her anymore that she really wanted to know. Whatever it had been, it was enough to make Dean thrash around and cry out like he was in agony. Something did resonate with her, though. Ezekiel had said dreamed and thought, past tense not present.

“Dreams,” she said pointedly. “He _dreams_ and _thinks_ of these things.”

Dean’s eyes flickered between her and Ezekiel, scowling.

“Yes,” Ezekiel said. “That is what I meant.”

Charlie narrowed her eyes at him.

“So you were unable to reach your brother?” Dorothy asked, steering the conversation back to something Charlie was more comfortable with.

“Yeah,” Dean said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I mean I found him easy enough, like I did Bobby and Charlie, but he just couldn’t sense me. I did my damndest, but he was just… blocked I guess. I was like a ghost there. It wasn’t like that last time.”

Charlie turned her attention back to Ezekiel where he stood by the bookshelves. It was bizarre to look at Sam’s face and not see him looking back. The eyes, the expression, were wrong; even the way he stood was not Sam. “Have you _any_ idea what might have happened to him?”

The angel shook his head. “I have never known anything like this to happen before.“ She believed him.

Dorothy wandered over to the bookshelves and then turned to Dean. “You are Men of Letters. Has anything like this, someone… disappearing into himself, ever happened before to _your_ knowledge?”

“Not like this,” Dean said. “Not to us.”

“But to others?”

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. “Me and Sammy, we’re not like the Men of Letters you knew. We’re legacies, but we didn’t know anything about them or this place until less than a year ago. They were out of action for a long time.”

“Still? There have been many centuries of the Men of Letters. They would know if it had happened. Do you have records?”

“Thousands,” Dean said. “We found a whole room of them.”

“Just one?” Charlie asked. “This place is huge. And like you say, they were around centuries. There could be millions.” It seemed like an impossible task. “Don’t suppose they have some kind of card catalog system, do they?” she asked hopefully.

“Yes!” Dean said. “Sam was adding to it, too, with things we’ve learned over the years.” His eyes came alive with something like excitement. “Hell, I bet the big geek found something like this months ago.”

“Wouldn’t he have told you?” Dorothy asked.

Dean grimaced. “We have our own strengths. Sam is knowledge guy. I’m action guy.”

“Dean,” Charlie chided, “You’re so much more than that.”

He held up a hand. “Another time, okay, Charlie? For now, let’s just get my brother back.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she replied.

Dean smiled slightly. “I know you will.”

“Where is the catalog?” Dorothy asked.

“Here,” Dean said, walking over to a cabinet made of small drawers. He rested his hand against it for a moment and then pulled out a drawer. “Okay, I’m taking Aa to Ae, grab a drawer and get to work.” He carried his drawer over to the table and sat down. He drew a deep breath and then set to work flipping through the small index cards.

Charlie took the next drawer and Dorothy another. Ezekiel didn’t move to help.

“Hey, Zeke,” Dean said, “earn your keep. Either grab a drawer and start searching or go make coffee. It’s going to be a long night.”

A pinched look of annoyance spread across his features. It was so Samlike that Charlie looked away. “I will make coffee,” he said.

Charlie listened to his footsteps drawing away. When they had gone she said, “He’s not exactly jumping to help.”

Dean glanced in the direction he had gone and spoke in a low voice. “I know.”

“Why do you think?” Charlie asked.

Dean lowered his voice further so Charlie had to lean close to hear. “Because he’s hiding something.”

“Do you think he know what’s happened to Sam?” Dorothy asked in a whisper.

Dean shook his head. “No, not about that, but he’s hiding something. Don’t worry, as soon as we get Sam back, we’ll find out what it is.”

xXx

They worked at it well into the night, reading card after card and searching for a clue as to what had happened. When he had delivered coffee, Ezekiel joined the search. They found nothing. At some point in the early hours of the morning, Charlie fell asleep over the table and was woken by a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She woke quickly, fumbling with the cards she’d been using as an accidental pillow. “I’m sorry. I’m awake.”

“You need rest,” Dorothy said sternly.

“I’m good.”

“Dean?” Dorothy prompted.

Dean looked up from the card in his hand to Charlie. “Yeah,” he said vaguely. “Sleep. Both of you. I’ll wake you when I find something.”

“I can help,” Charlie said, though the offer was undermined by the yawn she was unable to stifle.

Dean smiled at her. “No, you’re okay. Rest up and then you’ll be good to party with us when I get Sam back. I’m thinking a piñata and lots of tequila.” His casual words were forced, Charlie knew.

“Okay.” Charlie made a neat pile of the index cards she hadn’t yet searched and got to her feet. She walked slowly from the library and through to the living quarters of the bunker with Dorothy at her side. “I’ll show you where to sleep,” she said. “These guys have the bedroom situation more than covered.”

Dorothy nodded, looking pensive. “Thank you.”

Charlie came to a stop and Dorothy took a few more steps before realizing Charlie wasn’t with her.

“What?” Charlie asked.

“Pardon?”

“What aren’t you saying?” Charlie asked.

Dorothy looked uncomfortable. “Nothing.”

“Did you find something in the cards?” Charlie asked.

“No,” Dorothy said quickly. “It’s nothing.”

“Sam’s my friend. If you know something…”

“I don’t, Charlie,” Dorothy said “I don’t know anything. I just had a stray thought is all.”

“What was the thought?” Charlie asked.

Dorothy lowered her voice. “I was just wondering if perhaps Sam has done this to himself.”

Charlie frowned. “Sam would never hurt himself like this.”

“That’s not really what I meant…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just tired. I’ll be able to think better in the morning. Come on, Charlie. You’re almost asleep on your feet. Sleep and we will all be able to think clearer in the morning.”

Charlie wanted to push, to find out exactly what Dorothy was thinking, but even the word sleep made her eyes close. She decided she would have to trust Dorothy to explain it better when they were rested.

They carried on along the halls to the bedrooms. She walked past Sam and Dean’s rooms and led Dorothy into a free one. Dorothy thanked her and, after extracting a promise to be woken as soon as Dorothy was awake, Charlie went along the hall to the bedroom she had claimed as her own.

She closed the door behind her and stumbled straight over to the bed, dropping down onto it fully dressed. Sleep claimed her almost immediately.

She dreamed of Sam. He was curled in on himself in the corner of a vast dark room. He looked up at her and said, “Help me, Charlie. Find me.” When she woke in the morning, with Dorothy’s hand on her shoulder, she found her pillow and face were damp with tears.

xXx

Charlie was sure Dean would have woken her himself if there had been a breakthrough, but she was still disappointed to find him in the same position she had left him hours earlier, still poring over the cards. The only noticeable change was the addition of a few books in front of him. The sight of the books gave her a little hope; she thought maybe he was working towards something. But his mournful eyes quickly quashed that hope.

“Nothing,” he said in response to her unasked question. “I found a bunch of references about angelic vessels and possession, but it’s nothing we don’t already know.”

Charlie closed her eyes, disappointed. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said dully. “I’m on the last drawer.” He said it like it was an admission of guilt, as if he had failed somehow.

Ezekiel came into the room then, a tray of coffee in his hands. “I heard you get up,” he said in explanation.

Charlie took a mug gratefully and moved to sit beside Dean at the table. She reached to take a stack of cards out of the drawer, but he shook his head and dumped his own down. “What’s the point?” he asked. “There’s been nothing in the whole alphabet that might help. It’s unlikely X through Z are going to.”

“You don’t know,” Charlie said, taking his cards and starting to flick through them. “The answer could be on the very last card. We’ll only know by looking.”

Ezekiel set a mug of coffee down in front of Dean and he murmured, “Thanks, Sammy,” without looking up. The room fell absolutely silent. Charlie could hear her own breaths in her ears like roaring wind.

“Zeke,” Dean corrected himself. “I meant Zeke, dammit.”

“I understand,” Ezekiel said. “It must be very confusing for you to have me here looking like Sam without being Sam.”

Dean grunted a laugh. “Confusing? Yeah. That’s one word for it. Impossible is another.”

“Would you like me to leave?” Ezekiel asked, his brow creased.

“No,” Dean said harshly. “You have to stay here. When we work out what’s happened to Sam, we’re going to need you here to help fix it.”

“Okay,” Ezekiel said simply. 

“Okay. Good.” Dean reached for his mug and took a swig of coffee then went back to the cards.

Charlie slowed her actions as she came to the end of the stack, hoping that by taking her time she wouldn’t miss something, though it was unlikely she would with an almost eidetic memory. As she set her very last card down, Dean did the same with his own. For a moment, he looked eerily calm, and then he lurched to his feet and swept his hand across the table, scattering the cards.

“Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!” he shouted. “Dammit, Sam!”

Charlie leaned away from him, almost afraid of his outburst. She had read about his sometimes volatile temper, but she’d not seen it to this extent before.

“Dean,” Dorothy said quietly, glancing between him and Charlie pointedly.

Dean looked at her and seemed to sag. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Charlie knew it wasn’t a word he said often, especially not when angry, and she gave him a small smile. “It’s okay.”

“No,” he said sadly. “It’s not. It’s just…”

“It’s Sam. I understand.”  

Dean flopped back into his chair and leaned his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do,” he said.

Charlie glanced at Dorothy, remembering the conversation, or rather the lack of, they’d had in the night. “Your stray thought,” she prompted.

Dorothy looked stricken as Dean’s head jerked up. “Do you know something?” he asked.

“No,” she said quickly. “I don’t _know_ anything.”

“You’re obviously thinking _something_ ,” Dean growled, “so spit it out.”

“Please, Dorothy,” Charlie said. “We’re kinda at a loss here. If you have even an idea of what might’ve happened…”

Dorothy came slowly to the table and sat down. She rested her hands in her lap and fixed her eyes on Dean, seeming to be forcing herself to look him in the eyes as she said, “Shellshock.”

“What about it?”

“In the Great War, men were rendered incapable by what they’d been through. Some of them were so damaged that they stopped interacting with the world altogether. They were like living corpses.”

“Catatonia,” Charlie said. “It was… Oh.” She saw what Dorothy meant now, and it gave her a twist in her guts. It made sense, too. Sam had been through so much. Perhaps the witch’s possession had been the final straw. And with an angel running the switches, it would present differently to how it would look on anyone else. It also explained why Ezekiel couldn’t find him. If Sam had shut down, he would be untraceable.

“No!” Dean said harshly.

“Dean…” Charlie said softly.

“No, you don’t get it,” Dean said.  “Sam would not do that. He wouldn’t just give up.”

“It’s not a choice,” Charlie said. “It’s a reaction. Sam’s been through a lot. Don’t you think there’s even a chance that it could have been too much for him?”

“No, he’s been through worse before. Some witch isn’t going to make him check out.”

“She didn’t,” Dorothy said reasonably. “She pushed him down, like the angel said. Do you think it’s possible he just didn’t have the strength to fight his way back up?”

Dean closed his eyes and sighed. “I don’t,” he said, but there was no certainty in his tone. He was doubting now.

Charlie pressed the advantage. “Think, Dean. You told us Sam was ready to go with Death. He was prepared to die. Could it be that this time it was just too much for him?

Dean bit his lip. “It’s not like that,” he said quietly, speaking to himself not them.

“Like what?” Dorothy asked.

“There was this time a few years back, when Sam was actually being driven mad by something. He got tired, real tired, and he just couldn’t… But Cas took… He’s stronger now. No, I don’t believe it. He’s not given up.”

“There’s one other option,” Dorothy said quietly.

“What?” Dean asked hopefully. “Dammit, what?”

Dorothy lowered her eyes. “Maybe he really did go with Death this time.”


	4. Chapter 4

“When you say ‘go with Death…’” Charlie began.

Dean shook his head and turned away. Dorothy was wrong. She didn’t know them; she didn’t know Sam. She had no idea what he’d had been through and come out of alive. Some damn witch wasn’t going to be the thing that took him out, not with something like this. Sam was going down old, bald, and surrounded by fat grandkids.

“I mean that perhaps he died,” Dorothy said gently.  

He heard Charlie’s sharp indrawn breath as the idea was vocalized. Dean gritted his teeth. He did not want to hear this crap. More, he didn’t want Charlie hearing it.

“That’s enough,” he said curtly. “Sam isn’t dead. Okay?”

“I know it’s not what you want to hear,” Dorothy said apologetically, “but this is something you need to at least consider.”

“No!” Dean snapped. “It’s not something I need to consider because it’s not possible. Sam is alive, right, Zeke?” He turned on the angel. “Right!” His tone was a command.

“I don’t know…” Ezekiel said uncomfortably.

“I think you do,” Dorothy said.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Zeke?”

“I cannot _find_ Sam,” he said. “No sign of his mind, his spirit, or his soul. There is nothing in here for me to sense.” 

For a moment, Dean was afraid, but then reason caught up to him and he smiled grimly. “You might not be able to, but _I_ can. I found him in there. I saw what Sam was seeing. You can’t see stuff like that if you’re dead.” He crossed his arms over his chest, satisfied with his unassailable logic. 

“I am sorry, Dean,” Ezekiel said.

“No!” Dean held up a hand. “You don’t get to say sorry like that, because you’re wrong. Sam is fine. Well, he’s alive,” he amended. Stuck in a loop of memories, some of them the very worst moments of his life, was not fine, it was some kind of torture. But he _was_ alive.

“I am sorry,” Ezekiel said again. “I…”

“Yes?” Charlie prompted sharply.  “You what?”

“I knew Dean would despair if he thought there was nothing left of Sam, so I showed him what Sam sees to comfort him.”

“Comfort?” Dean asked, seizing on the word rather than the fact of what Ezekiel was saying.

Ezekiel drew a slow breath. “I showed you what Sam dreams. I thought if you could see _something,_ anything, it would give me a little longer to find out what had happened to him.”

“And now _she’s_ saying he’s dead, so you’re going to seize on that excuse for losing him?” Dean asked. “Bullshit.”

“I did not lose him,” Ezekiel said stiffly.

“Then where the hell is he?” Dean shouted.

Charlie flinched and Dorothy looked troubled, but Ezekiel stared back at him unconcerned.

“I do not know,” he said. “I have told you this. I have searched for him; _you_ have searched for him. I can think of only two options here. One, Sam is missing because his soul has moved on. Two, his soul has been destroyed.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that happens to people all the time,” Dean scoffed.

“It doesn’t,” Ezekiel agreed. “But no other soul in existence has had the kind of damage inflicted upon it that Sam’s has.”

“Castiel…” Dean started, but Ezekiel spoke over him. “Castiel took the experience from Sam, but he did not, could not, repair the damage to his soul. No one in all creation, except for God Himself, could do that. Sam’s soul was a powder keg from the minute Death pulled it from the Cage. The witch could well have been the last straw in its destruction. One trauma too many. Think, Dean, the fact of being overpowered, knowingly, by another—just like Lucifer—would have caused Sam massive stress and fear. That could have been enough to destroy him.”

Dean felt burning bile rise in the back of his throat and he swallowed convulsively.

“Uh, I didn’t understand half of what you guys said,” Charlie started, her voice strained, “but are we saying Sam’s dead or not?”

“We are saying death is the better of the only two options I can think of,” Ezekiel said mercilessly.

Dean retched and ran from the room with his hand clapped over his mouth. He got to the bathroom in time to lose the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl. He continued to heave, his muscles cramping, long after there was anything left to lose.

He heard light footsteps behind him and someone held a glass of water out to him. When he was sure he wasn’t going to vomit anymore, he flushed the toilet then turned and took the glass. He rinsed his mouth with the water and shifted so he was sitting against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. He leaned his head back against the cool tile and cursed the burning behind his eyes.

Charlie sat beside him, close enough that he could feel her shoulder brushing against him when she breathed. “I’m sorry, Dean,” she said, her voice choked.

“Thanks,” he said tonelessly. He felt numb, in shock. His heart felt the weight of what had happened and been said, but his mind didn’t seem able to compute it. It just didn’t feel real. Only a day ago they’d been together, happy, sharing a bowl of popcorn and a few beers. How did it all go so wrong?

He wasn’t aware he vocalized the question until Charlie answered. “I don’t know. He seemed fine. So much better than before.”

“He was,” Dean said quietly. “When Zeke took over, Sam was so trashed inside, but he was happy. He told me, even with all the crap around us, he was happy with his life. That’s not something Sam says… _ever_.”

“But his soul. What happened to it?”

Dean drew a deep breath. “Where did Chuck leave off with the books?”

“Swan Song was the last published unpublished story. It ended with you living with Lisa and Sam standing outside the house, kinda watching you.”

“Swan Song…” Dean said scathingly. “It fits I guess. Well, the reason Sam was standing outside the house and not banging down the door was because he was soulless. When Cas pulled Sam from the Cage, he didn’t get his soul. It wasn’t his fault, it was incredible he managed to get even his body out, but Sam’s soul was left behind. It took a while for us to work out what was wrong, and longer for us to get the soul out, too, and by the time we did, Sam had been in there a year and a half.  His soul was… ruined, basically. Lucifer and Michael had been busting it the whole time he was there, all those years of Hell time, and what Death managed to pull out would have destroyed him had we stuck it back in without some reinforcement.” 

“What did you do?”

“Death put up a wall between Sam’s mind and the memories of the Cage. Sam couldn’t remember Hell. It protected him for a while. Then… well, some shit went down, and the wall got busted, and Sam remembered it all.” He winced. “It wrecked him. At first we thought he was handling it, he said he was, but he was lying. He was seeing, hallucinating, Lucifer. And he handled even that for a while, but then Lucifer got his claws in and Sam couldn’t sleep. I don’t mean he couldn’t sleep well. I mean he couldn’t sleep, period. He ended up in a locked ward, going out of his mind. It almost killed him.”

Charlie drew in a shaky breath. “Oh, God. Poor Sam. Poor you.”

“Yeah. It was a nightmare for all of us. I got him help though, tracked Cas down, and he took the experience from Sam. I don’t understand how it worked exactly, but basically, Castiel went crazy and Sam got sane again. He still remembered Hell, but he didn’t feel it the same way. The damage though… the damage to his soul was still there. None of us, not even Death, could fix that.”

Charlie burrowed into his side, a warm weight that should have been comforting but wasn’t. Despite that, Dean wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close against him.

“And you think the witch was enough to ruin what was left of Sam’s soul?” she asked, and Dean heard the tears in her voice.

Dean shook his head. “No. I mean, I don’t know. But if it is that or Sam did die, I know which I’m rooting for.”

“You want Sam dead?” she asked, peering up at him from beneath wet lashes.

“I never thought I’d say it, but yeah. I am hoping he died. Because _that_ I can fix.”

Charlie stiffened at his side. “What are you thinking, Dean?”

Dean didn’t answer. He gently extracted his arm from around her and got to his feet. Charlie scrambled up beside him and grabbed his arm. “Dean! What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I need to save my brother,” he stated.

He tugged himself out of her hold and strode from the room and back to the library. Ezekiel was standing where they had left him, a look of tension on his familiar, borrowed features. It gave Dean a strange pang to look at his brother’s face and not see Sam staring back at him. It felt wrong, jarring. He needed to fix it.

“Dean…” Ezekiel started, but Dean ignored him. He went to the cabinet where he and Sam had stored some of the non-weapon items of the trunk when they moved in. He found what he was looking for at once: a Ouija board. It was the same one Sam had used to communicate with him long years ago when he had been in a coma after they’d been ridden off the road by a demon. 

“What are you going to do with that?” Dorothy asked.

Dean placed it on the table and set the planchette down on top. “I am going to find Sam.”

“You cannot—” Ezekiel started but Dean held up a finger and he fell silent.

“You say there’s two options—Sam is dead or he’s gone completely, right?”

Ezekiel nodded. “That is what I believe.”

“Then I need to know which it is.” It felt wrong that he was hoping for Sam to be dead, but it was the best option. If he was, Dean could get him back. He had the King of Hell in his dungeon after all.

“And if you find him,” Ezekiel asked. “If he is dead, what will you do?”

Dean stared him in the eye as he answered. “I’ll do whatever it takes.” He sat down, making the movement a clear end to the topic.

Dorothy made for the door. “I am sorry for your brother,” she said, turning back in the threshold. “But this is a bad idea. You should not interfere with the spirit realm. It does not end well.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Dean said blithely. “Feel free to help yourself to some breakfast in the kitchen. Zeke?"

Ezekiel hesitated. “I agree. This is a bad idea. The veil…”

“Kitchen. Go.” Dean commanded then turned to Charlie. “You?”

She bit her lip and them came and sat at the table beside Dean. “I’m staying.” There was no trace of her usual bubbliness in the face of the stress and fear of loss, but she looked determined.

Dean patted her hand. “Thank you, Charlie.”

He adjusted the planchette so it was placed over the _G_ and gently rested his fingers on it. “Here goes.” He closed his eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath and then said. “My name is Dean Winchester. I am looking for my brother. Sam, are you there?”

He had barely finished his question when the planchette jerked under his fingers. “Charlie, pen and paper!” he commanded.

She flitted over to the shelf and came back with a legal pad and ballpoint pen. She watched, rapt, as the planchette trembled of its own power.

“Sam?” Dean asked. “Are you there?”

The planchette whipped to _Yes_ , and Dean’s heart contracted hard in his chest. “Sammy?” he asked quietly. It moved again, this time to _No._

“What?” Charlie started but Dean shushed her.

“Am I talking to Sam Winchester?” Dean asked, cursing the uneven quality to his voice.

It trembled again and moved to _I._ “Write it down!” Dean ordered, then watched in awe as the planchette dragged his hands over the board, pausing on letters for a split second before moving on. He could do nothing to slow it or even pull away. It was like his fingers were glued to the small piece of polished wood.

Charlie muttered beside him as she noted down the letters without spaces. I-R-V-T-R-A-P-S-O-R-R-Y-D-E-A-N-S-A-V-E-U-S-S-A-M-L-O-S-T-T-R-Y-I-N-G-T-O-F-R-E-E. It went on and on. Sweat beaded on Dean’s brow and his fingers cramped. He began to shout questions at the ether. “Sam! Are you there? Has anyone seen Sam Winchester? Mom? Dad? Is he there? Ash? Dammit, someone help me!”

He began to pant and his head pounded. His whole body was shaking and he thought he was going to lose his mind from it all. It felt like there were a thousand voices screaming in his head, trying to get through to him, and he couldn’t bear it. Suddenly, it stopped. He felt the planchette being ripped out of his hands and he fell against the back his chair, gasping for breath.

“What?” he started, blinking to clear his vision.

“Are you okay?” Charlie asked urgently.

He nodded automatically. “Yeah, I think so. What happened?”

“I don’t know. That was crazy. I’ve seen séances a few times on TV, but they never looked like _that_ before.”

“It’s never been like that before,” Dean said breathlessly. “That was different. Damn.”

He heard footsteps and when he looked, he saw Ezekiel striding purposefully towards him across the long room, looking grim.

“I told you it was a bad idea,” he said pointedly.

“What was that?” Dean asked.  “Why was it…” He shook his head. “Why were there so many?”

He frowned slightly, almost as if he couldn’t understand Dean’s question. “Because Heaven has been sealed, Dean,” he said eventually.

“You’re telling me everyone that has died since Metatron did his spell is in the Veil?”

“Unless they were slated for Hell, yes, they are in the Veil.”

Charlie gasped. “But that’s… millions!”

“Yes,” Ezekiel agreed.

Dean bowed his head and groaned. No wonder he felt like his head was going to explode. All those voices reaching for him, and that was just a portion of those there.

Charlie pulled her pad closer and began to strike lines across the text to make words of what she had written. Dean watched, seeing her furrowed brow as she worked.

“Okay,” she said eventually. “Here’s what we have; at least it’s what I think we have. I missed some letters and others didn’t make sense. “Irv. Trap. Sorry. Dean. Save us. Sam. Lost. Trying to free. So much. Help. Sam. Mother. Where did I…” She paused. “It’s all like that. Just people crying out. There’s a few mentions of Sam, but what they’re trying to say I don’t know.”

“He could be there though,” Dean said. “If they’re saying his name.”

“Or they’re just repeating what you said back,” Ezekiel said. “These souls are losing their minds, trapped as they are. You know how vengeful spirits are born, Dean. All of those souls are crying out as their sanity is being chipped away.”

Dean closed his eyes and massaged his temples. His head was throbbing with pain and tension. “Yeah, but…” he trailed off.

“But it could have been Sam,” Charlie said, her tone hopeful. 

“It could have,” Ezekiel agreed doubtfully.

“I need to know,” Dean said, getting to his feet.

“How though?” Charlie asked. “The Ouija was like a nuclear séance. We can’t do that again.”

“Crowley,” Dean said. “Demons can perceive the veil. It’s kinda how it worked when my deal was coming due. I could see the demons’ faces and the hounds. Crowley can, I don’t know, look.”

“You realize you will have to free him from his shackles to enable him to do that, don’t you?” Ezekiel asked.

Dean looked up at him, trying to ignore the pain pounding in his head. “So?”


	5. Chapter 5

Dean led Charlie into the room that concealed the dungeon, a sense of trepidation running through him. He didn’t want Charlie anywhere near Crowley, but she had insisted on coming along.

“You’re keeping the King of Hell in the file storage room?” she asked.

“No, I am keeping the King of Hell in the dungeon,” Dean corrected.

“Oh. Well that does make more sense,” she said nodding her head, “So why are we in here if he’s in the dungeon?”

Dean grabbed the corners of the shelves that separated the cell from the rest of the room and pulled them back. “Welcome to the dungeon, Charlie.”

Charlie’s wide eyes took in the room, coming to rest on Crowley sitting in his manacled chair at the table. “You’re Crowley?” she asked doubtfully.  

Crowley smiled ingratiatingly at her. “The one and only.”

“You don’t look much like I pictured you,” she observed. “You’re kinda small.”

Dean almost laughed at the look on Crowley’s face.

“I’m taller standing,” Crowley said a little stiffly.

“By about an inch,” Dean said.

Crowley scowled at him. “I’m assuming this isn’t visiting time at the Winchester Zoo, which means you’ve bought Ginger here to see me for a reason. Knowing you, and knowing that constipated look on your face, that means something is very wrong. Did that pesky witch give you the slip? Need my muscle as back up?”

“The witch is dead,” Dean said dully.

“I killed her,” Charlie added, and Dean couldn’t blame her for the hint of pride in her voice. “Stiletto to the brain.”

“Well done, dear,” Crowley said indulgently. “Now, if she’s gone, it means something else has happened.” He looked from face to face. “And… the winner is Moose. What’s the great lummox done this time?”

“He’s done nothing,” Dean said quickly.

“And yet I really doubt it.” Crowley considered for a moment. “You’re looking constipated, which for you passes as stressed. You’ve bought HTML Barbie with you, and she’s looking kinda shell-shocked. _And_ the moose isn’t looming over the pair of you right now. Whatever has happened, it’s him, so come on, what did he do this time?”

“He died,” Charlie said angrily, obviously goaded by Crowley’s snark. She wasn’t as accustomed to dealing with it as Sam and Dean were.

“Again?” Crowley asked, his tone weary. “Did he drop the hairdryer in the bathtub or did the witch get a lucky shot in before Barbie took her out?”

Charlie took a step forward. Dean wasn’t sure what she intended to do, but he held her back with a hand on her arm anyway. Whatever she doled out, Crowley would get a kick out of it, and Dean didn’t want to give him any satisfaction.

Crowley grinned at her and then turned his gaze on Dean. “So, I assume you’re here to make a deal. Little brother’s life for eternal damnation, perhaps.”

Dean felt Charlie’s tension at his side. “No,” he said.

“No deal?” Crowley asked, confused. “Then why are you here? If this is a funeral announcement, there’s no need. I could have waited to read it in the obits. I’ll give it a miss, if you don’t mind. I don’t want to ruin the moment of you lighting him up like a Christmas pudding by laughing."

“I want a deal,” Dean said. “I’m just not taking eternal damnation for it.”

“Why not? Wasn’t a problem last time.”

“Been there, done that. Besides, I have something you want a lot more than my soul to exchange.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Freedom,” Dean said.

Crowley rested back in his chair. “What makes you think I want freedom?” he asked. “I could have my demons bust me out of this place anytime I like. Only reason I haven’t is because it suits me to be here. I am learning everything I need to know from my cozy suite.”

Charlie glanced at Dean and asked, “Is he for real?”

“He thinks he is,” Dean said. “It’s all bullshit, but he believes his own press. He doesn’t know that this place is warded to the gills and off the grid to boot. Even if it wasn’t, me and Sammy saw Abaddon recently; she made it pretty clear that Hell is dancing to her tune now. The only reason she’d be coming for Crowley is to kill him. So, him not wanting his freedom may be true. He’s probably happy here as it’s keeping him safe from Abaddon and her followers.”

“I don’t hide,” Crowley growled.

“You did from Lucifer,” Charlie said. “Two months under a rock, wasn’t it? After they burned down your house and ate your tailor, of course.”

“I'm sorry, have we met?” Crowley asked, his brow creased.

“She read the books,” Dean said tiredly.  

“Ahh, they’re a whole new level of bollocks, aren’t they?”

“I actually kinda love them,” Charlie said, then catching Dean’s eye, she became solemn again. “Point is, you _do_ hide.”

“I don’t like you,” Crowley said petulantly. 

“I never liked you much either,” she replied.

“Back on the _actual_ point,” Dean said irritably. “Crowley, we need you to do something.”

“Obviously,” Crowley drawled. “It’s what you’re offering that we need to discuss. Lucky for you, it’s not your soul I want this time. It occurred to me that you _might_ be useful in future. No, what I want is freedom.”

“You do want us to let you go?” Dean asked.

“I want more than that; I want _freedom_. I want to go where I like, do what I like, and I want you and the moose to leave me alone to do it.”

Before Dean could say a word, Charlie spoke up. “You want carte blanche for evil?”

Crowley attempted to look wounded. “You make me sound so bad. I am just a demon like any other, doing my job.”

“Demons jobs _are_ evil,” Charlie said. “And you’re the king of them all. Your job is like… uber-evil.”

“Bright this one, isn’t she?” Crowley said.

“Actual genius in fact,” Dean said.

“Mensa certificated,” Charlie added.

“And she’s right,” Dean said. “You are evil. There is no way we’re giving you a free pass to do whatever you want. Not for this.”

“Not even for your brother’s life?”

“It’s not Sam’s life I want to deal for, Crowley.” Yet, he added mentally.

“Then what is it?” Crowley asked, genuinely confused.

“We need you to look into the veil,” Charlie said. “We’re working with the theory that he could have died. We don’t know for sure.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “That’s it? You _think_ Sam is dead? How can you not know? Have you tried checking for a pulse?”

“It’s complicated,” Dean said.

“It always is with Winchesters. Okay. Fine. I can peek into the veil, no problem.”

“Brilliant,” Charlie said.

“In return for something, of course.”

“Of course,” Dean said. “What is it you want? I’m not giving you freedom for this.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Crowley said. “You want me to do it, you get these shackles off and let me go.”

“Not a chance,” Charlie said.

“I wasn’t asking you, Barbie. I’m talking to him. What do you say, Dean? I’ll look into the veil for you, throw in a rescue if the moose is there, dump him back into the overlarge body, but only if you give me what I want.”

Dean clenched his jaw as he considered. It was what he wanted, Sam back, but this was a helluva cost. Sam wouldn’t want it. He would hate Dean for making this deal, but he would be alive to hate and that was what mattered. Wasn’t it?

“No, Dean,” Charlie said quietly, her voice rising when he didn’t answer. “No!”

“Charlie…” he started.

“No!” she said harshly. “Come with me a minute.” She grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the dungeon and adjoining room into the hallway. She released him and turned on him, her eyes blazing. “You cannot make this deal!”

 “It might be the only way I can get him back.”

“It will certainly be the only way you can destroy the world completely,” she said. “You know Crowley better than me. Tell me honestly, can you see this ending well for anyone, including Sam?”

Dean looked away. He wasn’t stupid. He could see the gaping hole in the plan. He could get Sam back just to lose him, and everyone else he loved, because of this deal. The last time he had made a deal, he’d gone to Hell, and that had lived up to its name, but this time he was risking sending the whole world to hell. It had ultimately cost Sam’s life and sanity to fix it last time. He would never risk that again. But the alternative was to leave Sam possibly dead. And if he was dead, he was trapped in the veil with all those voices, slowly losing his mind. He couldn’t leave Sam to that fate.

His fingers came up to his hair and he pulled hard on the strands. It was an impossible situation. He couldn’t make the deal, but he couldn’t leave Sam there either. He couldn’t leave Zeke to spend eternity running around in Sam’s body like some kind of bad joke.

“We don’t even know if he’s there yet,” Charlie reminded him.

“We _hope_ he is,” Dean said in a low voice.

“Absolutely, but at the same time we have to face the fact there is a worse scenario. You could make the deal, destroy the world, and not get Sam back anyway. If we could just find out… Oh!”

“Oh what?” Dean asked, seizing her arm hard when she didn’t immediately answer. “What Charlie?

“Okay, we need to know for sure, right, whether Sam is alive or the other thing. So we need someone that can tell us.”

“Yeah, a demon,” Dean said.

“Or a psychic, right? Am I right?” Her words came out in a rush. “I mean, Missouri Mosely could sense the poltergeist _and_ your mom in your old house, and she could sense energies. If Sam did die, well, he’s not going to have gone far from you, is he? She might be able to sense him close, and if she can’t, I bet she’d be able to siphon through the voices on the Ouija better than you.”

“Charlie, I haven’t seen Missouri Mosely in years. I don’t know if she’s still alive even.” 

“She is though!”

“How do you know?”

“I might have looked her up when I read _Home_. And I might have called her to talk.” Her voice dropped. “And I might have gone to her for a reading.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open.

“What? I was curious. This is it, Dean, I am sure. We just need to get Missouri here and we’ll be able to know.”

Dean stared into her wide, excited eyes, and he felt a flicker of hope. This might just be what they needed.


	6. Chapter 6

Dorothy stood in the middle of the library, her bag over her shoulder and her expression solemn. “I am sorry, Charlie, but I must do this,” she said.

Charlie frowned. “But Sam…”                                                                 

“Is your friend, and I understand why you have to go with Dean, but I need to return to Oz to save my own friends.” She lowered her eyes, as if unwilling to see Charlie’s reaction. “You could come with me.”

Charlie bit her lip. In any other instance, the offer would have been too much to refuse, but things weren’t right. She couldn’t leave Dean to search for Sam alone, no matter how much the offer of an actual quest, with heroes and villains and magic, tempted her. Dorothy had her friends to save and Charlie had her family.

“I can’t,” she said regretfully. “Any other time, I’d go with you in a heartbeat, but I have to save Sam.”

“And if he is—“ Dorothy started to speak but Charlie cut her off. “Then Dean will need me more than ever. And I’ll need him, too.”

Dorothy nodded, as if she had expected the answer. “You’re a good person, Charlie, a hero.”

“Not like you, Sam and Dean,” Charlie said quickly.

“There are all kinds of heroes.” Dorothy picked up the strange key from the table and made for the stairs.

“Wait!” Charlie said.

Dorothy hesitated and turned, her expression hopeful. Charlie crossed the distance between them and pulled her into a hug. Dorothy returned it hesitantly. When they broke apart, Dorothy was smiling.

“If, no, _when_ you make it back, look me up, okay?” Charlie asked.

Dorothy tugged a lock of Charlie’s hair. “Sure thing, Red. And if you change your mind one day, you know where I’ll be.”

There were footsteps and Dean came into the room, the Impala keys swinging from a finger. “You ready, Charlie?”

“Dorothy’s leaving,” Charlie said.

Dean looked puzzled for a moment, and then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “You’re going to need some cash to get by. Things cost a lot more than when you were around last.”

“She’s going back to Oz,” Charlie amended.

“Oh.” He stuffed his wallet back in his pocket and said, “Well, good luck with that.”

“And to you,” she replied. “I hope you find what you are seeking and that it ends well for you.”

Dean nodded stiffly. “It will.” The tightness in his eyes contradicted his certainty of the statement.  

Dorothy walked up the stairs and Charlie followed. Just because she wasn’t going with Dorothy didn’t mean she would pass up the chance to catch a glimpse of Oz.

Dorothy inserted the key in the lock and turned it slowly. The most amazing sight met Charlie’s eyes: the actual yellow brick road, lush green hills, and in the far distance, The Emerald City. For a fleeting second, she wanted to step through the door and onto the yellow road. But she heard Dean move behind her, almost as if he knew what she was thinking, and she banished the urge. She had responsibilities here, family that needed her, and she would never rest there knowing that Sam might be lost here.

Dorothy stepped through and the door and turned back, a question in her eyes. Charlie shook her head and allowed the door to slowly swing closed, hiding the amazing sight. She had wanted a quest, and she couldn’t think of a better one than to save Sam.

xXx

They made the four hour drive to Lawrence in under three. Dean seemed to become more tense the closer they got. Charlie thought it was a combination of the stress of their situation and the proximity to the place where everything had gone wrong for him when he was just a child. It might also have something to do with the angel in the seat beside him wearing his brother’s face.

It was strange for Charlie to look at Sam and it not be him looking back, and she knew that it had to be even harder for Dean. For a moment she wondered what they would do if they couldn’t get Sam back. Would Dean leave Ezekiel in Sam’s body or would he make him leave so they could lay Sam to rest? She quickly shoved away the thought and sent up a plea to the universe that it would disregard the possibility she had put out there.

By the time they drove through the city limits, Dean’s fingers were so tight around the steering wheel that they were white. Charlie wished she knew what to say to him to offer support or comfort, but there was nothing she could think of. She couldn’t even find a way to comfort herself.

Dean pulled up in front of the small two story house and cut the engine. He didn’t move to get out of the car, though; he just sat staring straight out ahead of him.

“Dean,” Charlie said tentatively. “Do you want me and Ezekiel to go in?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s okay.” He lowered his voice and muttered something, and Charlie thought he was reminding himself of why they were there and what was at stake.

He opened his door and unfolded himself from the seat. Charlie copied him and met him at the sidewalk. She looked back and saw Ezekiel had hesitated a few yards back. She frowned at him and he looked weary as he came to them. Charlie was pretty sure angels didn’t get tired, so she figured it was the situation he was done with more than the journey.

The door opened then and Missouri Mosely was revealed on the threshold, her arms folded across her chest.

Dean drew a shaky breath and started up the path to her. Her scowl quickly morphed into a look of sympathy as she got a good look at him. Charlie knew what she was seeing—a man on the precipice of despair and defeat. It was the same thing she saw when she was looking at him.

“Oh, child,” she said. “Look at you.” Dean raised his head slowly and she stepped forward and held his shoulders. “We’re going to fix this, honey. You with me?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

Missouri’s eyes moved to Charlie and she smiled. “Good to see you again, Ms. Bradbury.”

Charlie smiled slightly. “Hey.”

“Come on in,” Missouri said, stepping back to allow them access.

Dean walked inside and Charlie trailed him.

“You, too, Mister,” Missouri said firmly, and Charlie looked back to see Ezekiel hesitating midway along the path.

He walked up to the door and past Missouri into the house. Dean went straight through to the living room and dropped onto one of the heavy fabric couches. Charlie sat beside him and shifted closer so they were shoulder to shoulder. Ezekiel stood by the window and looked around the room speculatively.

“Sit!” Missouri commanded him.

With a pinched and annoyed look, he sat down on the lone armchair. Missouri perched on the couch opposite Dean and Charlie and leaned forward. “Okay, I have some idea of why you’re here and what you need, but first there’s something we need to talk about.”

Dean nodded. “Okay.”

Missouri took a breath and said, “Ten years, Dean Winchester! Ten years, and you didn’t think to come to me once? You don’t think I could have helped with any of the problems you had going on? I could have told you that Ruby was no good; I could have told you what that damn fool Castiel was doing with the souls; I could have seen what Sam was doing with the blood!”

“Blood?” Charlie asked.

“Later,” Dean said quietly then spoke up for Missouri to hear. “We would have come, Missouri. We would have been with you in a heartbeat if we weren’t scared we’d get you killed like we did Pamela.”

“Poor Pamela,” Missouri murmurred. “May she rest in peace.”

“She does,” Dean supplied. “We saw her.”

“I see that,” Missouri said, and Charlie realized she was reading his thoughts. Was she reading Charlie’s, too? It wasn’t like she was hiding anything, but still…

Missouri clucked her tongue and Charlie quickly redirected her thoughts to why they were there.  

“I appreciate you wanting to protect me, Dean,” Missouri said. “But I could have helped you. Besides, I’m an old woman. I’ve had my life. I would have helped you anyway.”

Dean smiled sadly. “We know. That’s why we didn’t come.”

Missouri’s mouth pressed into a thin line and she said, “Well, that’s all in the past now. I can see you’ve got a lot going on in the present to deal with.” She turned her eyes on Ezekiel and frowned. “What’s your part in all this?”

“I am an angel,” Ezekiel said.

“I can see that much. What I want to know is why you answered Dean’s prayer. What was in it for you?”

“The chance to help someone,” Ezekiel said.

Missouri pursed her lips. “From what I hear, angels aren’t known for their philanthropy.” She nodded at Dean. “That Castiel does his best, but even he started out wanting. So, what did you want?”

Charlie looked curiously at Ezekiel. She was wondering the same thing now. What could have made him essentially give up his freedom to help the Winchesters? It couldn’t have been much of a life, hiding down deep in Sam’s body, healing without being detected.

“I did, do, want to help,” Ezekiel said. “There are many kinds of angel, each with their own strengths, weaknesses and roles. While I was a soldier, as all angels are, I was primarily a guardian, as that suited my strengths. I was created to help, I was supposed to help, so when I heard Dean’s desperate prayer, I went to offer him aid because I was created to.”

Missouri nodded slowly. “Okay. Good. Just as long as we’re all working to the same goal.” She drew a deep breath. “Okay, Dean, tell me exactly what you need.”

“We think Sam’s dead,” Dean said in a hoarse voice. “At least, we’re hoping he is. I wanted to know if you can get through to him somehow. Make sure he’s okay. Tell him we’re coming to get him.”

“And how are you planning to get him?” Missouri asked. 

Dean shrugged. “However I can.”

“Another deal?” she asked, her mouth turned down at the corners. “You can’t do that, Dean, not to him or yourself.”

Dean looked up, locking eyes with her. “I won’t do anything that Sam wouldn’t do for me if our positions were reversed.”

Like that was comforting, Charlie thought. If he made that deal with Crowley…

She caught Missouri’s eyes and redirected her thoughts in a hurry again.

“No!” Missouri said harshly. “Dean Winchester, don’t you dare!”

Dean frowned. “Dare what?”

“Dare make a deal with that abomination Crowley. There are other ways. I can help you, but you have to promise me you won’t make that deal.”

“Other ways?” Dean asked.

“I help a lot of people,” Missouri said. “Some owe me favors. Powerful beings in our world. Promise me and I will help you.”

Dean nodded. “I promise.”

Missouri eyed him speculatively for a moment and then said, “Okay, let’s get to it.”

She stood and went to a cupboard. From out of it, she pulled a battered cardboard box. She set it on the large table on the other side of the room and lifted the lid. Charlie stood to get a better look. It was a Ouija board, though obviously much older than the one Dean had used.

“My family has been using this talking board over 150 years,” she said. “We’ve all had a touch of the shine, even those of us that don’t use it. I don’t use the board so much now, as I can speak just as plain without it, but some people like the prop. We’re not using it a prop this time. We’re using it because I need a siphon.” Her face became grave. “There are, as I am sure you know now, so many souls in the veil, and some of them are screaming out. If I was to open myself to their communication alone, I would be drowned by them all, unable to make sense of it.” 

Dean came to the table and sat down. Charlie took the seat beside him and they watched Missouri as she set up the board with the old planchette, polished by so many years of fingers pressed against the wood. Ezekiel stood over them, expression neutral. It was so strange to see that on Sam’s usually expressive face.

Missouri sat down and brushed her hands over her hair and then clasped them in front of her for a moment before she rested them on the planchette.

“Do we need to…?” Dean started, awkwardly gesturing to the board.

“No, honey. You both just need to stay quiet and try to keep calm no matter what you hear. It’s going to be hard enough to do this without having your panicked thoughts battering me.”

Dean nodded and Charlie made a concerted effort to calm her mind. It was hard, though, because so much rode on this.   

Missouri closed her eyes for a moment and then spoke into the silence, her fingers pressed down on the planchette. “Sam Winchester. I am looking for Sam Winchester.” She grimaced a moment and then shook her head. “No, Winchester. Sam Winchester. Has anyone seen him? Does anyone know him?”

Charlie tried to keep her thoughts focused on the room around her and not her hope that Sam would answer at any moment.

“Irv?” Missouri asked, and Dean stiffened. “Slow down. I can just about hear you. That’s better. Have you seen him?” Her brow creased. “Oh. I see. Okay. Anyone else?” She shook her head. “That’s okay.”

Charlie looked away from Missouri and focused on the heavy drapes at the windows. They were floral and dark, and not nearly interesting enough to keep her mind on instead of what she was hearing from Missouri, though she was trying her hardest.

 “We will,” she heard Missouri say in a strained tone. “I’ll make sure. Thank you.”

There was the sound of wood scraping and then a heavy sigh. Charlie looked back at Missouri in time to see her pushing away the planchette and covering her face with her hands.

“Missouri?” Dean said. “Are you okay?”

She slowly lowered her hands and nodded. “Yes. I’ll be fine. It’s just so much.”

Dean bit his lip and Charlie guessed he was fighting the urge to ask his questions. She had to admire his restraint, as it was killing her not to demand answers about Sam, even when she could see Missouri was struggling. It had to be a hundred times worse for Dean.

Missouri took a few deep breaths and seemed to calm slightly.

“Sam?” Charlie prompted, and then held her breath as she waited for an answer.

Missouri looked at Dean as she answered. “He’s not there.”

Dean groaned and bowed over the table, his hands covering his head.

“I found someone called Irv Franklin,” Missouri said. “He told me he knew you both, that you were once friends, and he has been searching since you tried the board last time. There’s no sign of him.”

“But that’s just one man,” Charlie said. “He couldn’t have searched everyone in half a day.”

“It was more than half a day for him,” Missouri said. “The veil is another plane, the same way Heaven and Hell are. Time moves differently there.” She considered for a moment, as if deciding how much to say. “It’s more than that though. It’s Sam himself. He didn’t hear me. I was searching specifically for him and found Irv because they are connected. I didn’t find Sam. I would have found him if he was there.”

Dean groaned quietly and Charlie laid a hand on his back. She felt tears welling in her eyes and when she blinked, they burned a path down her cheeks.

This was it then. Charlie was never going to see him again, never speak to him, never laugh, sigh, cry, with him. He was more than dead. He had stopped existing altogether. Sam was gone.

Missouri sucked in a breath. “Gone?”  

Charlie nodded and raised her haunted eyes to Missouri’s confused ones. “Yeah. Apparently, Sam’s soul has been damaged beyond repair. We figured there were two options: he was dead or his soul had been ruined for the final time.”

Inexplicably, Missouri smiled then. “You were wrong.”

Dean’s head jerked up so fast Charlie thought it had to hurt. “What?”

“It’s just not possible,” she said.

“How do you know?” Charlie asked, as Dean peered suspiciously at Ezekiel who looked confused.

“Because I know souls. I’ve spent most of my life enveloped in them. I know what’s there and what isn’t. Also, because I know Sam, I believe in him.” She leaned back in her chair and tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “It’s like the sun. You can feel it, you can see it, but only sometimes. Sometimes all sign of it—at night—is gone, but you still know it’s there somewhere.”

“That’s because it’s somewhere else,” Charlie said. “That’s science.”

“You call it science, I call it faith. I know Sam’s somewhere, because I know.”

“You can see him?” Dean asked hopefully.

“No, but I know he’s out there somewhere.”

“Is this possible?” Dean asked Ezekiel. “I mean, you can’t feel him…”

“I cannot,” Ezekiel said. “I don’t know if it’s possible. I have never been immersed in the world of human souls. I just know they are usually found on Earth or in Heaven or Hell.”

“So he’s not in his body,” Missouri said. “I can’t tell you anything about that. I can tell you he’s not gone though.”

“How do you know, though?” Dean asked again.

Missouri was silent so long Charlie was almost sure she wasn’t going to explain then she said, “I know because you’re here and sane, Dean.”

Dean laughed harshly. “You call this sane? Damn, I’m not even sure I’m here.”

Missouri patted his hand. “I know you and Sam spent some time in Heaven together.”

Dean nodded. “After Walt and Roy took us out. It didn’t make the greatest hits reel.”

“Yeah, _Dark Side of the Moon_ ,” Charlie supplied and then fell silent under Dean’s withering gaze.

“And you and Sam shared a heaven of collective memories?”

“Yes,” he said slowly.

“And did anyone explain how rare that was?”

Charlie gasped. Ash had told them special cases, soul mates, shared heavens. Sam and Dean shared a heaven. It all clicked into place. Sam couldn’t be gone because Dean was still there.

Missouri nodded at her, satisfied. “Even if Sam was so damaged he couldn’t live, his soul would survive through Dean. He would take the strain onto himself, too, helping Sam.”

It all made sense to Charlie. In that time Dean had told her about—when Sam had been going mad with insomnia—he had probably kept Sam going long past his time by merely existing strong as he was.

“Me and Sam are a special case?” Dean said tentatively.

“Yes,” Missouri said emphatically. “Sam’s soul cannot fail completely, because yours is still whole and strong. You’re saving him just by being.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Okay. Wow. So, what do I do next? If Sam is still out there somewhere, I have to find him, but how do I do that?”

Missouri’s look of triumph faded to be replaced by sadness. “I don’t know, but I will. Trust me, Dean, we’ll find a way to get him back.” She hesitated. “Trust in yourself and Sam. Trust the bond.”

Dean nodded slowly. “Okay. If it means I’m getting him back, I’ll trust anything.”

“Good,” Missouri said, satisfied. “Now, I’m guessing none of you have eaten anything for a while.”

Charlie shook her head. “I don’t think Dean’s even drunk anything but coffee since the dream root.”

“Dream root?” Missouri asked, and then winced. Charlie assumed she was seeing what Dean saw when he’d gone tripping through Sam’s dreams, or whatever it was that Ezekiel had provided for him. The only thing Charlie knew about it was that, whatever it was, it had Dean crying out in his sleep like he was being tortured.  “We’ll come to that another time,” she continued, casting Ezekiel a sharp look. Ezekiel looked blandly back at her.

Missouri stood and bustled out of the room into the kitchen. “Charlie, you mind lending me a hand?” she called back.

Charlie followed her through the hall and into a neat kitchen. Missouri was setting a tea kettle to heat on the stove and began to root through the fridge. She pulled out a loaf of bread and packages of ham and cheese. “You make the sandwiches and I’ll fix the tea,” she said.

Charlie fought back a grimace. She wanted coffee, caffeine to jolt her system. She’d slept the night before, but Dean hadn’t, and since then he’d been through the emotional wringer. He would need all the help he could get.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Missouri said. “I’ve got Dean taken care of.”

Charlie shrugged and set to work making a platter of sandwiches for them all to eat. While she worked, Missouri hummed, seemingly perfectly at peace. Charlie wondered how she could be happy given what was happening to them.

“I take what I can and make of it what I will,” Missouri said cryptically. “Just like you do.”

Yep, mindreading was a pain in the ass, she thought, and then quickly muttered, “Sorry,” in case Missouri had caught that thought, too. “How do you do it?” she asked as Missouri poured water over mugs of what looked like grass clippings. “Hear all this and pretend you can’t?”

Missouri hesitated a moment before answering. “Most of the time I block it out unless it’s needed. It’s just that, right now, I am trying to be as open as I can be in case I can sense something of Sam, or if Dean hears something. He might not recognize it.”    

“Hears something?”

Missouri stirred the tea slowly, looking thoughtful. “You’ve spent quite some time with Sam and Dean now, haven’t you?”

“Some,” Charlie said.

“Then you’ve seen how they talk to each other.”

“Yeah…” Sometimes harshly, other times gentle, depending on the need. Usually suited to what the other needed.

“And you’ve seen how they don’t talk?”

Charlie grinned. “Yeah. They’re the kings of avoiding the issue—Dean more than Sam.”

“Yes, but I meant their nonverbal communication more than that. When they are hunting, they instinctually know what the other is doing and thinking a lot of the time. When they’re dealing with something they can’t handle emotionally, they still know how the other is thinking and feeling enough to support each other. That’s their bond.”

Charlie frowned at her. “Do you mean they can read each other’s minds?”

“No, that would be too obvious for even Winchesters to miss. It’s more like they’re sensing each other outside of what we might call ‘normal’ abilities. They just know each other.”

Charlie remembered how Dean had refused to believe Sam was gone when Ezekiel first said he was, and then when Dorothy ventured the idea that Sam had died. It was more than denial. It was like he knew in his heart that Sam was still there.

Missouri set the mugs down on a tray and carried them through to the living room without another word, though she had surely heard Charlie’s musings. Charlie finished making the sandwiches and carried the platter through to the living room. Dean had moved from the table to the couch again, and he and Missouri seemed locked into an argument.

“Really, Missouri, I’m not drinking this. It looks like the leavings from a lawnmower.”

“I know you won’t refuse me my hospitality after everything I have done for you,” Missouri said firmly.

Dean sighed, and for a moment Charlie thought he was going to continue to refuse, and then he took a breath and took a large gulp of the drink. He grimaced and said, “That was…”

“Good, right?” Missouri said.

“I think it must be an acquired taste,” Dean said, picking flecks of herb from his tongue.

Charlie wondered how much of the stuff she was going to have to force down so as not to offend Missouri. She held out the plate of sandwiches to Dean, and smiled, encouraged, when he took one. She took her own and sat down beside him. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she started eating. She figured Dean would be, too, so she handed him another sandwich, but he didn’t take it.

“Dean,” she said gently. “You need to eat…” She trailed off as she caught sight of him blinking drowsily. “Dean?”

“What did you do?” Dean slurred. “What did you give me?”

“What you needed,” Missouri said, unabashed. “A little Agrimony, some and yerba santa, and a peppermint and Rose combination for flavor.”

Dean’s hand dropped back to his lap and his head tilted down as his eyes closed.

“Oh, and a healthy dose of Ambien,” Missouri added.

Dean began to snore quietly.

“He’s not going to be happy when he wakes up,” Charlie said.

Missouri looked unconcerned. “As long as he wakes up ready to fight, I don’t think it matters. He’s going to need all the strength for this he can get.”


	7. Chapter 7

A week after Dean woke on Missouri’s couch at dawn with Charlie asleep on the other and Ezekiel standing, staring silently out of the window, Dean woke up panting in his own room in the bunker. He rolled over and hid his face in the pillow, groaning.

It had been the same dream that he’d been having since Sam was lost: a movie reel of the memories he’d seen when dream walking in Sam’s head. His mind seemed to have decided that was the perfect nightly torture for him, and it delivered every time. One of the hardest parts of it was that he would know when he woke sweaty, breathless and scared, that Sam dreamed of those things often: the worst parts of his life combined with what he thought of as the best. It made him wonder sometimes how Sam handled it. How did he get himself out of bed and make himself look human in time to greet Dean every day? He would never have guessed Sam was going through that at night by the way he acted during the day. He didn’t know if he would be able to make it through his days like that without massive amounts of whiskey if it wasn’t for the situation he was living in—Sam missing. He had a reason to get out of bed, a reason to stay sober and fighting, researching and clinging to hope that they would fix it, because Sam wasn’t there. Did Sam see Metatron and Abaddon as good enough reasons to fight it or was there something else that gave him strength?

Just as soon as he could, Dean would ask him.

He rolled out of bed, catching himself so he didn’t sprawl on the floor, and stumbled out to the bathroom. He went through his morning routine on autopilot, his mind already in the library, anticipating the day of reading and researching. When he was working, it was slightly easier, as he felt that he was doing something that might actually help Sam. It was when he was eating, lying down to sleep, doing anything but actively searching for a solution that he struggled the most.

When he was finished brushing his teeth, he rinsed his mouth and wiped his face on a towel and dropped it into the sink. He turned to leave and then paused. Sam would hate that. He bitched about Dean letting the towels sit in the sink or on the floors all the time. He said it made Dean a teenager again. He would scoop them up and carry them off to the laundry room with its anachronistic appliances like a disgruntled housewife picking up after her kids.

Dean smiled, the memory so real to him it was tangible. He almost expected to hear Sam’s voice scolding, but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, because Sam was missing. The only way he heard Sam’s voice now was through the formal intonations of Ezekiel. And that didn’t happen so much lately. At first, Ezekiel had helped them in their research, but Dean had sent him away at the end of the first day. Seeing him, hearing him speak, had seemed to be peeling back layers of Dean’s sanity and leaving him raw. Now, Ezekiel spent most of his time lurking somewhere else in the bunker—Dean didn’t know or particularly care where.  

He left the towel in the sink and walked out of the bathroom. On the way past Charlie’s bedroom, he slapped the door and called, “Time to get to work, Charlie.”

He carried on along without waiting for a response.

When he got to the library, though, Charlie was already there. She sat at the table with her laptop open in front of her and a travel mug of coffee in her hand. She took a large gulp and hissed before lowering it and tapping a few keys and scrolling down again. Dean cleared his throat and she started and turned. “Oh. Hey. There’s coffee for you,” she said, gesturing to the other side of the table in the place that had become Dean’s during their search where a large travel mug sat beside his pad of scrawled and mostly useless notes. 

Dean took in the scene and sighed. Charlie’s usually ivory skin was dull white and her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. She was wearing the same shirt he thought she had been wearing the day before, and her usually bright eyes were shadowed and red.

“Did you sleep at all?” he asked.

“Uhuh. Got a good few hours,” she said.

“You need more than a few hours.”

She glanced up at him from her screen and seemed to see something in his expression that made her pause for a moment to speak to him properly. “Did you get more than a few hours, Dean?”

“I’m used to living light on sleep,” he said.

“So am I. That fact that I didn’t spend most of my life hunting evil doesn’t mean I always got a sold eight hours of sleep. I had an unhealthy Playstation addiction that meant coffee and I entered a committed relationship.” She smiled. It was a forced thing without meaning. “Besides, I had an idea in the night that I had to explore.” She took another swig of coffee as if fortifying herself. “Okay. We’ve been looking at where Sam could be instead of, you know, here, and I realized we’re going about it wrong. It doesn’t matter where Sam is as much as getting him back here. We looked at it like a treasure hunt—find him and then work from there, right?”

Dean nodded.

“But we ignored the obvious. You.”

“Me?”

“You _and_ Sam. You have this connection, this bond. According to Missouri, your soul living and being means Sam’s cannot fail, which means there has to be an actual connection somehow, some way for the strength to pass between you both. Right?”

Dean felt something ignite in his chest, right above his heart. It felt like hope. “You think we could use me to track him down?”

“I think it’s more than that. I think if we can find him using your bond, you will be able to bring him back to himself. I don’t know how, but there has to be a way.”

Dean nodded energetically. “Yes. Absolutely. There has to be. Otherwise what is the point of it? What have you found out so far?”

“Not much yet. I’ve been searching online for information about soul mates, but it’s all pretty much dating sites and fanfiction. We’ll find it though. We have all these books and all the research the Men of Letters did. We just need to keep looking.” She smiled slightly and Dean felt the charge in the air as their hopes were both reenergized.

This was it, Dean was sure. This was how he’d save Sam.

xXx

Their confidence took a few knocks over the next couple of days as they failed to find anything that could help them trace Sam. The problem was the sheer wealth of knowledge available to them. There were literally thousands of books to trawl through, files upon files to review, and the whole internet to comb, although the last option seemed to add little more than confusion with theories and fake studies that basically said, _“Yes, of course you and your husband are soulmates. It’s proven by the fact you both love the music of The Eagles.”_

Charlie was following a lead from one of the catalogue cards that mentioned a study the Men of Letters had done on the nature of human connections. She had no real certainty this would be the answer, after so many false starts on the way, but she wouldn’t stop until they had Sam back. If that meant going into the creepy room that blocked her view of the King of Hell in the dungeon, so be it. She straightened her shoulders and walked into the filing room, searching the shelves for box marked HN:13 where her file should be.

“Hello,” a cheery voice called through to her. “Which of my beloved pets is here to visit today?”

Charlie sighed and tried to ignore the voice as she walked around the shelves.

“Hmmm… not Dean’s ploddy feet, not Sam’s clown shoes flapping. It’s girly tippy-toes which means it’s Ginger or Kevin. That you, Kev?”

“No,” Charlie answered automatically, and then cursed.

“Language, Barbie,” Crowley chided. “Think of the children.”

Charlie ignored him and returned to her search.

“So,” Crowley said expansively, “is Moose back yet?”

Charlie drew a deep breath through her nose, inhaling the dust of the room and sneezing.

“Bless you.”

She couldn’t help but marvel at the idea of a demon blessing her. She wondered idly if that was some kind of curse. Was she doomed because of an ill-timed sneeze? If she was, Sam and Dean would fix it, she knew. She found the box she needed on the top shelf and wrangled it down, almost smacking herself on the nose. She placed it on the floor and knelt to search for the file she needed.

“I’m guessing by your silence that’s a no on the Moose hunt. Shame. Moose is always good for a laugh. I’m still up for that deal if anyone’s interested,” he said.

“No one is interested,” Charlie said firmly.

“Pity for Dean—for you all really. I take it you’re fond of Sam and Dean. You must be missing him. Of course, it’ll be so much worse when Dean takes a bow, too.”

Charlie strode forward and yanked on the shelves that hid the dungeon. She realized her mistake the moment she caught sight of Crowley’s smug face. She had reacted exactly as he had hoped she would, giving him the attention he so craved. She thought she could use the situation to her advantage though. Crowley had been around a long time; moreover, he had seen a lot of the world. Maybe he knew something about souls that they didn’t.

“Hello, pet,” he said with a charming smile. 

“What do you know about soul mates?” She was determined not to be dragged into a game with him.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Strange question.”

“Answer it,” Charlie commanded. 

“Well, Plato had an idea. He thought humans started out as some kind of four legged, four armed, one headed creature. To his mind, that pissed off Zeus so he split them down the middle—creating the form you know and love today.” He leered “The souls are supposed to spend the rest of time searching for their other half.”

Charlie sighed and turned away. She wanted facts that could help, not stories.

“Why do you ask?” Crowley said.

“I’ve met someone,” Charlie said. “Want to know if it’s the real thing.”

“Probably isn’t,” Crowley said blithely.

“Thanks anyway,” Charlie said sarcastically, turning to leave.

“Wait!” Crowley said quickly, almost desperately.

Charlie stopped.

“This is about Moose and Squirrel, right?”

Charlie turned back to him. “What do you know about them?”

Crowley grinned. “I know everything. I have made watching and studying those pests my job since the day GI Joe stabbed Sam in the back and Dean tottered off to the nearest crossroad. I know what they are and I know what it means.”

“Do you know how it works?”

“Yep. You up to make a deal, Ginger? A little information for a little something from you, maybe?”

“My soul?”

“Nah. I’ll let you keep that. It’s a phone call I want.”

Charlie hesitated. This could be the answer they were looking for, but at the same time, she knew she shouldn’t do it. Crowley said phone call; Charlie heard backup. Dean might be prepared to grant Crowley freedom for this, and a free pass, but Charlie wasn’t, not while there were still other options—like finding the answers themselves.

“No,” she said firmly.

“No? You’re seriously going to say no to me?” Crowley actually looked a bit stunned.

Charlie crossed her arms over her chest. “I am, because a deal with you can end with nothing but bad. We’ll work this out on our own, thanks.”

She walked out of the dungeon, slid the shelves back into place and grabbed the file box from the floor. She would tell Dean she’d had trouble finding the files. She would not tell him about her conversation with Crowley, not unless there was no other choice, because there was nothing Dean wouldn’t do to save his brother, and though Charlie loved Sam, she wanted a world for him to return to when they got him back, not another apocalypse.

They would find him without deals.

xXx

“Okay,” Charlie said after a protracted period of silence. “I might have something.”

Dean’s head snapped up from the book he was reading. “Yeah?”

“Maybe. First off, the Men of Letters are creepy. Did you know they did experiments?”

“Well, they have a lab, so, yeah.”

“I don’t mean playing mad scientists with lab coats and beakers; I mean human experiments. They studied people and their connections by separating them.“

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying my ancestors are creepy? That is not a shock. You should have met my grandfather, Samuel. The man was completely insane.”

Charlie nodded thoughtfully. “That’s the one that was possessed by Azazel?”

“Yes. And then he was resurrected by Crowley. He offered me and Sammy up like a buffet to a prison full of monsters. It was a good time.”

Charlie smiled slightly. “You should write an autobiography—now that Chuck’s disappeared and all.”

“Dead, actually,” Dean said. “According to Cas anyway. And no. So, back on point. These experiments?”

“Right. Okay. Back in their heyday, they were looking for information about split souls—soul mates. Apparently, they did some futuristic—for then anyway—tests using brain waves and stuff. They found similarities in the way people they believed were soul mates processed things. When they were done with that kind of test, they moved outside. According to this”—she tapped the file in front of her—“they took ‘split souls’ into the wilderness and dumped them there miles apart. The theory was that they could use their connection to find each other.”

“Did it work?” Dean asked eagerly.

“They only did it a few times before deciding it was inhumane—like they shouldn’t have known that before they started. It did work though. The first time, the pair found each other _and_ found their way out. The other two pairs both died. One pair in the wilderness together, and the second… Well, they think one died from a high fall and the other just wasted away.”

Dean could relate to that. He hadn’t been able to last more than a few days after Jake killed Sam, and when Sam was in the Cage, he had only survived by keeping a promise. He was only coping now as well as he was because he had that flicker of hope that Sam was somehow still alive, just missing.

“How does this connection work?” he asked.

Charlie read down the page. “I don’t know much. It says after the wilderness trip the surviving pair were reluctant to talk to them anymore—who could blame them?”

“What _do_ you know?” he asked urgently.

“The ‘subjects’ reported no knowledge of an actual bond before experimentation began. They just thought they had a good relationship and well-matched personalities. Under stress, though, they said it was like a physical connection that they could sense, almost see. It was like a tether between them that grew more compelling to follow the closer they were to each other—like magnetism.”

“And they could see it?”

“Almost—but they _could_ sense it.”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and just breathed. He had something like an answer now, but he needed to figure out how to utilize it. He had never _felt_ or seen anything like a tether to Sam. Sure, sometimes they seemed to know what the other was thinking, and he could read Sam’s body language in a way he couldn’t anyone else, but actually seeing something… No. That had never happened. Not even at the most stressful times in their lives.

Charlie was chattering on, triumphant at her breakthrough, but Dean was feeling less than excited. It, Sam’s freedom, was down to him, and he had no idea where to start.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, eventually registering his mood.

“I don’t know how to do this, Charlie,” he said. “I can’t see or sense anything.”

Inexplicably, Charlie grinned. “I have a couple ideas about that actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. How do you feel about meditation?”

“I feel like getting Zen would be quite the feat considering my current mental state.”

Charlie bit her lip. “Okay, then how do you feel about mind altering substances?”

“You want me to get high?”

“Maybe. I thought we’d start with alcohol though. If we can get you drunk enough, it might open you up a little.”

Dean attempted a cocky grin. “Finally. Something I can do.”

“Awesome. I need to make a couple calls in case the liquor doesn’t work. You get to drinking, and I’ll be right back.” She rose from her seat and made for the living quarters of the bunker. Dean went to the cabinet that held their whiskey and picked up a crystal decanter. He filled a glass with a healthy measure and took a deep drink that burned his throat.

He gasped. “Here we go.”

xXx

Charlie knew Dean could handle his drink, she both seen and read about it, so she wasn’t surprised when Dean burned through most of the decanter before he started to show the effects of the alcohol. She kept him company with a couple of beers and tried to keep positive as he reported no change to his perception. What did change was his mood. The longer it went on and the more he drank, the more melancholy he became. His posture became slumped and his eyes reddened.

They were sitting in quiet companionship when Ezekiel came into the room. He had largely remained absent from their search after Dean bellowed at him to leave them alone on the first day. Though Charlie wished they had his angelic brain to assist them, she understood Dean’s feelings.

“What is happening?” he asked.

“It’s a party,” Dean slurred. “We’re celebrating the life and times of Sam.”

Charlie winced at the defeat in his tone. She had thought having some semblance of a plan would help him.

“This is going to help no one, least of all Sam.” Ezekiel said, gesturing at empty tumbler in Dean’s hand.

Dean lurched to his feet. “Like you care. You’re probably thrilled he’s disappeared. No sharing time anymore, am I right?”

“No,” Ezekiel said stiffly. “I only ever wanted to help. I wish I knew how you could find Sam.”

Dean advanced on him. “Then why aren’t you doing more? You’re an angel, dammit! You must be able to do something.”

“I have done everything I can think of to do to find Sam. You sent me away from the research.”

“Get out of him!” Dean shouted. “Give me my brother back.”

“I cannot,” Ezekiel said.

“Why not?”

“Because without my presence in this body, it will waste away.”

Dean lurched forward at him, stumbling slightly. “He’s not dead!” he bellowed.

“So it has been said, but this body, without me, is.”

Dean swung a punch through the air and Ezekiel stepped back. Without impact to stop him, Dean spun on his heel and lost his balance. He fell to the floor, landing hard on his knees.

Charlie rushed toward him and knelt at his side. “Dean,” she said sadly.

“I can’t do this,” he moaned.

Ezekiel cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Charlie. “Take care of him.” He strode from the room, leaving Charlie with her devastated friend.

“He’s not dead,” Dean said.

“No, he isn’t,” she agreed. “He’s just missing and we’re going to find him.”

Dean bowed his head. “How? I can’t find him, Charlie. I am looking so hard, trying to sense him like it said I could, but there’s nothing.”

“I don’t know yet,” Charlie said. “We will though. Come on. Up you get.”

She stood and helped him to unsteady feet; together, they got him back onto his chair.   

“I don’t think alcohol is the answer after all,” she said regretfully. “Do you want to sleep it off?”

Dean shook his head jerkily. “Nightmares.”

“Okay,” she said sympathetically. “I’ll get you some coffee.”

She patted his shoulder and made for the kitchen. Halfway there, she heard the knock on the door. “Finally,” she muttered.

“Who’s that?” Dean asked.

Charlie didn’t answer. She hurried up the stairs and unbolted the heavy door. As it swung open and the man was revealed on the threshold, Dean came up behind her, gripping the handrail hard.

“Cas?” he said blearily.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean sighed out a breath and said, “Thank God you’re here.”


	8. Chapter 8

When Castiel received the call from Charlie Bradbury telling him he needed to get to the Bunker as quickly as possible because there was an emergency, he knew he must leave at once. He felt some guilt about abandoning Nora at the Gas-N-Sip without notice, but when someone said emergency and Winchesters in the same breath, you looked to the sky for the signs of impending disaster. Besides, they were his friends. Whatever they were facing, he wanted to be there for them.

He felt no guilt stealing a car whose owner had foolishly left they keys in the ignition. Their loss was for the greater good.

The drive was a tense one. He spent it worrying about what might be waiting for him at the end of his journey and what he could do to help. He was not an angel anymore. He was a human now, practically useless to them. It was only when he drove into sight of the Bunker’s entrance that he felt a little better. He was at least there in person now. He would do what he could.

He climbed out of the car and made for the door, taking a deep breath before knocking firmly. There was no sound of approach on the other side until he heard the bolts being disengaging and the creak as it was opened. A young woman was revealed on the threshold. She had fiery red hair that was pulled back from her face in a messy ponytail and her skin was wan. He recognized the differences in the woman in front of him to the snapshot he had seen on Sam’s phone—the girl tucked under Sam’s arm, both smiling widely at the camera. The changes were not for the better. She looked like she needed a long sleep and fortifying meal.

“Cas?” Dean was coming up the stairs behind her, gripping the handrail hard to counter what Castiel suspected was a large amount of alcohol running through his bloodstream. He looked even worse than Charlie did. He looked a lot like the man Castiel had seen driving away from Stull Cemetery, demanding to know where his paradise was when all he had was disaster. Castiel knew then that what had happened was serious, and he suspected he knew who it had happened to.

“Hello, Dean,” he said gently.

Dean sighed out a deep breath. “Thank God you’re here.” As if the words were the trigger, he slumped over the banister and pressed his forehead against the wooden rail. “Oh, thank God.”

Charlie and Castiel exchanged a glance and then they both hurried to Dean’s side. Castiel dragged Dean upright and pulled his arm over his shoulders. Charlie braced him from the other side and they carefully helped Dean down the stairs to a chair. When he was sitting, albeit listing to the side, Castiel knelt so he was eye to eye with his friend. “Where is Sam?” he asked urgently.

“Gone…” Dean groaned.

Castiel’s wide, scared eyes found Charlie’s and she shook her head quickly. “He’s not dead,” she said, and Castiel felt his heart restart with a jolt. “He’s just… missing.”

“What happened?” Castiel asked.

At that moment, there were footsteps and Sam came into the room. “I thought I heard the… Castiel!” There was no pleasure in his voice. There was also something very wrong with him. He didn’t sound like himself. He didn’t look like himself. Castiel _knew_ Sam. He knew his quirks, his voice, his laugh, sighs and shouts. He knew how Sam held himself—always slightly slumped as if trying to hide his unusual height—and he knew how he spoke. This Sam was holding himself straight and tall, and his voice was wrong. It was modulated carefully, the words falling almost formally from his lips. Castiel had seen this before.

He straightened quickly and spread his arms in front of Charlie and Dean protectively. “Lucifer!” he growled, pulling his angel blade from where he had stowed it in his coat, registering even as he did that it would be useless against the archangel.

 “It’s not him,” Dean said in a dull voice.

Castiel relaxed infinitesimally and addressed the stranger. “And yet you are not Sam Winchester either. Who are you?”

“It’s me, Castiel. Ezekiel.”

“Ezekiel?”

“Yes,” the angel said. “Hello, Castiel.”

“How… I don’t understand.” He lowered his blade and asked, “What happened?”

Dean turned bleary eyes on Ezekiel. “You want to tell him how you screwed up?”

“I do not because I did not,” Ezekiel said. “I have done only what you have asked since I met you in that hospital room. I have saved your brother.”

Dean lurched to unsteady feet and shouted, “Then where is he now?”

Ezekiel closed his eyes and a look of impatience that was so like Sam spread over his features. “I am not going to explain anything. This situation is of your making, and I am tired of being your excuse for your failings.”

Castiel expected Dean’s anger to surge in the face of the accusation, but it didn’t. He slumped, defeated, and Castiel laid a hand on shoulder to support him.

“My fault,” Dean said in a hoarse voice. “All mine.”

“Yes,” Ezekiel said. “Yours.” He turned away and made for the door he had entered through. Dean stared after him as if he was fighting the urge to attack him, or perhaps drag him back.

Castiel waited until the footsteps had faded along the hall and then he said, “What happened to Sam?”

Dean pulled away from Castiel’s support and walked through the room and up the steps into the library. Castiel and Charlie and followed. Dean went straight to the table and picked up a glass of amber liquid. He slugged it back and grimaced.

“I think maybe that’s enough now,” Charlie said tentatively. 

Again, Dean surprised Castiel. He expected Dean to argue, to pour another glass to goad her, but he didn’t. He nodded and set the empty glass down on the polished table. He fell into a chair and covered his face with his hands. “I screwed up, Cas,” he said, his voice muffled.

Castiel glanced at Charlie and saw that her mouth was pressed into a thin line; she didn’t argue his words, though. Perhaps she had heard them enough times to know it would do no good. Perhaps she agreed. 

“What happened?” he asked, repeating his earlier question.

Dean looked up at him with bloodshot eyes and said, “Sam was dying from the trials, remember?”

Castiel nodded. When he had still been an angel, he had been able to see the damage the trials were doing to Sam, and he’d known death was a very real possibility. Sam had been damaged in ways he could not heal because no human body was supposed to be able to take that level of damage and survive as long as Sam had, let alone be upright and fighting. That had given him hope that Sam would make it through. But then when he had finally managed to speak to Dean after his Fall, he knew what was happening despite Sam’s strength. Ezekiel had been there, though, and Dean had said he was helping. Then, after, when he had seen Sam and the vitality of him, and he’d assumed Ezekiel had succeeded where Castiel could not. Sam had been saved. Now he saw the truth.

“Ezekiel is saving Sam from inside,” he said.

“Yes. At least he was. Now… everything is so messed up that I’m not sure what’s happening inside,” Dean said.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Castiel asked, making sure to keep his tone neutral.

Dean closed his eyes, as if he didn’t want to see Castiel’s reaction. “Because Sam didn’t know, and I couldn’t risk him finding out.”

Castiel fought back a groan of frustration. The Winchesters were the most incredible men he had ever met. They fought to save other lives every day of their own. They saved the world. And they made the worst mistakes. Almost as bad as the ones he himself made.  

Dean went on, his eyes still closed. “Zeke said if Sammy knew, he might cast him out, and then he’d die for sure. I had no choice.”

Castiel could see why Dean would have thought that, but Sam wasn’t stupid; surely if he’d known the stakes, he would have allowed the angel to stay. There was something he didn’t understand though.

“How can Sam not know Ezekiel is in him? He must have given consent?”

Dean’s eyes opened and Castiel saw the guilt roiling in them. “I tricked him. Zeke mind-melded us and I got a yes out of him. Zeke slipped in.”

“Dammit, Dean,” he whispered before he could stop himself.

Dean stared back at him defiantly. “What would you have done? Sam was _dying_! It was trick him or lose him completely. He was about to go with Death, Cas. He was done.”

Then it should have been his choice to go, Castiel thought but didn’t vocalize. Dean would never understand that. The bond between the Winchesters made it impossible for him to understand.

He redirected. “Is that why I couldn’t stay? Because you thought I would tell Sam what you had done?”

“No,” Dean said quickly. “I knew I could rely on you to keep that to yourself. It was Zeke. He said you would draw other angels to us—Bartholomew. He said if you stayed he would have to leave. I had no choice, Cas. If he’d left, Sam would have died, and I knew you could handle yourself out there.”

“I understand,” Castiel said reassuringly. “Had I all the facts I would have opted to leave myself. I would never have risked Sam. And I never would have told him.”

“I’m sorry, man. I should have been level with you. It’s just I was so…”

“Scared,” Castiel supplied. “Of course.” He drew a breath and said. “So what is happening now? Ezekiel is obviously in command of Sam’s body, yet Sam was before, so why has he come to the fore?”

Dean glanced at Charlie, a look of pleading in his eyes. She nodded and said, “We faced off with the Wicked Witch of Oz. She did something to Sam and Dean—possessed them. When she was killed, Dean came back to himself but Sam didn’t. He hasn’t come back since—and it’s been over a week now.”

A week! A week in which Castiel sold slushies to rude children and microwaved burritos to truckers, Dean and Charlie had been dealing with this—Sam had been missing. He hated that he hadn’t been there for them.

“When you say he didn’t come back…” he started.

“Zeke says he’s a corpse,” Dean said in a broken voice. “Sam’s not in there at all.”

“Dean tried dream root,” Charlie said, “and we thought that worked kinda, but it turned out it was just crap Zeke was showing him. We thought maybe he’d died, but Missouri says he’s not in the veil. He’s still here, somewhere. Dean’s keeping him here with their bond.”

“Oh,” Castiel said. So they knew about that now.

“You knew?” Dean asked, noticing Castiel’s lack of surprise. “You knew we were a ‘special case’.”

Castiel nodded. “I knew from the moment I met you both. The bond was clear to me.”

“So why didn’t you tell us?”

The truthful answer was that Castiel had been indifferent at the time. He had cared only for Dean as the Righteous Man. Then later, in the year of the apocalypse, when he knew them and cared for them, he didn’t tell them because he didn’t know how they would react to the news—Dean especially. They already had a complicated relationship, and they each took on so much of the other, he didn’t know whether the information would be of assistance or detriment.

“Because I did not see how it would help,” he said.

Dean nodded thoughtfully. “I guess not. It’s supposed to help now though. It isn’t.”

“It is,” Charlie argued. “Missouri said by just being, your soul is saving Sam’s from destruction.”

Dean lurched to his feet and picked up the glass from the table, suddenly furious. “It’s not enough!” He lobbed the glass at the wall and it smashed, falling to the floor with tinkling sounds. “He’s still not here, is he? That damn angel is, walking and talking, and acting like he has a right to be here, when it’s _Sam’s_ body! Sam’s life! And I am useless!” He braced his hands on the edge of the table and panted. “I can’t see him. I can’t feel him. I can’t do a thing.”

Castiel rose to his feet and laid a hand on Dean’s back. “You can, Dean. You just need help, and I am here now. I may not have grace, but I have knowledge. I can help you find him.”

Dean looked at him hopefully. “You think?”

“I know everything there is to know about souls—I spent a year using them to fuel my war machine, after all.”

“Great,” Charlie said enthusiastically. “Ezekiel said he didn’t know much about them so we’ve been kinda grappling in the dark.”

“Ezekiel knew nothing about the bond?” Castiel asked, confusion coloring his tone.

“Yeah,” Charlie said. “He said something about it not being his job in Heaven.”

Castiel frowned. Once, it wasn’t Ezekiel’s job—he had been a warrior in the very beginning, but he had been raised through the echelons of Heaven over the centuries to a guardian of the gate. His life for the past thousand years had been immersed in souls.

Ezekiel had lied. Why?

xXx

Leaving Dean to Charlie’s care and coffee, Castiel went in search of Ezekiel. He searched the communal rooms, discovering a garage he hadn’t known existed, and eventually finding him in Sam’s bedroom. More unexpected than his location was what he was doing—sitting on the bed with a battered wooden box open beside him. Castiel cleared his throat at the door, and even though Ezekiel would have heard him coming and had time to hide what he was doing, he quickly dropped the photograph of Sam and Dean back in the box and snapped the lid shut.

“Castiel,” he said formally.

“Hello, Ezekiel. What are you doing?”

Ezekiel was silent a moment before answering. “I was searching for some way to connect with Sam. I thought perhaps if I had a better understanding of him, I could help more; I might be able to find him wherever he is now.”

That made no sense to Castiel. Ezekiel had shared Sam’s whole mind of memories and knowledge. There was everything there he would need to forge a connection. He had no need of these photographs and mementoes. Castiel felt a prickle of foreboding on the back of his neck.

“Has it helped?” he asked neutrally.

“No,” Ezekiel said a little sadly. “I cannot seem to forge a bond.”

Again, Ezekiel was lying. There was an automatic bond between a vessel and an angel. Jimmy had been a prime example. It hadn’t haunted him at the time because he had been an angel in the purest sense, but he’d had a strong connection with Jimmy before his destruction at the hands of Raphael in the moments before the commencement of the apocalypse. He had known details of his wife and child that had strengthened Jimmy. Ezekiel should know the same details of Sam.

“That is a shame,” Castiel said.

“How is Dean?”

“Overwrought. Desperate. Charlie is tending to him at the moment.”

“I cannot seem to help him. I only upset him when I am there.”

“It’s hard for him,” Castiel said. “You are Sam, but not, and that makes it hard for all of us that care for him to be around you.”

Ezekiel nodded slowly. “I understand.”

Castiel didn’t think he did though. His tone was grudging, not like himself _or_ Sam. Ezekiel was chosen for the gates because he was an empathetic angel. He could guide the souls to their paradise when they were often scared and overwhelmed in the face of their deaths. He should have been able to empathize with Dean more than he apparently was.

Castiel felt another flicker of unease. With a sense of trepidation, he pulled a thread. “This is perhaps the most upsetting situation I have been in.”

“I feel the same,” Ezekiel said.

“Even more than our great losses at the battle of Elysia. Do you remember the horror of that day, Ezekiel?”

“I remember well. It was a bloody day.”

“It was indeed,” Castiel said, his tone saddened by his realization. “I should go see how Dean is. I will try to persuade him to sleep. I think we all need rest.”

“Yes,” Ezekiel agreed. “You all do.”

Castiel turned and walked from the room, his heart heavy and his nerves taut. There was no battle of Elysia. There was no bloody day. Which meant Ezekiel was a liar. What else was he lying about? Castiel needed to know.

xXx

Gadreel knew he needed to leave. Castiel was there now, which meant trouble was going to come. He took nothing with him but Sam’s stash of emergency cash. He didn’t need a phone, which would enable Dean to track him anyway. All he needed was his wits.

He hesitated in the hall and listened carefully. There were no voices. He thought Castiel, Charlie and Dean were sleeping now. He walked into the library and made his way across the room. He was halfway across the room when he heard someone speak his name.

He turned and saw Castiel coming toward him from the living quarters. He looked tired and careworn.

“Castiel,” he greeted.

“Are you going somewhere?” Castiel asked mildly, coming toward him.  

“Just outside for a while. I sometimes like to look at the stars. They make me think of home.” The lie slipped from his lips easily, one of many he’d spoken recently.

“I will come with you,” Castiel said. “I feel the same… absence.”

Gadreel felt some pity for the man in front of him. How must it feel to have lost the very thing that made an angel what it was—grace. That didn’t mean he was going to allow Castiel to hinder his escape though. He needed to leave before more occupants of the bunker arrived to complicate things.

“Of course,” he said easily.

Castiel stepped back and Gadreel walked towards the door. Castiel walked at his side, until, inexplicably, he stopped. Gadreel turned to look at him, a question on his lips, just in time to see Castiel strike the matchbook. He dropped it down onto the floor and fire roared up in a circle around Gadreel.

“Castiel! What are you doing?”

Castiel looked severe. “We need to talk.”


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel was on his way to the garage when he heard footsteps behind him. He hoped it would be Charlie or Dean, not Ezekiel, as that would complicate his plan. He was pleased when they came closer and he heard Charlie’s voice greeting him. “Hey, Cas. What are you doing?”

“There is something I need from the Impala. Come with me; I want to show you something,” he said.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Have to say, Cas, if you’d coupled that with the coat Edlund said you used to wear, this would be a whole other conversation.”

Castiel merely looked at her in confusion. He suspected from the tentative smile on her face that it was a poor joke that not even she felt much amusement with in their current situation. She was trying though, and Castiel understood the need.

“Never mind,” she said. “What do you want to show me?”

“It’s hard to explain,” he said.

She shrugged and fell into step at his side. “Dean’s finally sleeping.”

“That’s good,” Castiel said distractedly.

“Cas, are you okay?”

Castiel nodded vaguely. “Yes, good. I mean fine. I am fine.”

Charlie obviously didn’t believe him, but she didn’t question him any further.

When they came to the garage, Castiel pushed open the door and gestured Charlie in ahead, closing it carefully behind him. Charlie looked at him and then the question of what he was doing trailed off as she caught sight of the intense look in his eyes.

Castiel tugged her arm and led her over to the Impala. “I need you to be very quiet,” he whispered. He judged that Ezekiel wouldn’t have a chance of hearing them from any of the main rooms of the bunker, and even if he was just outside the door he wouldn’t hear if they whispered, even with his enhanced hearing.

She nodded and then spoke quietly. “What’s going on, Cas?”

“Ezekiel is lying. I suspect he is not who he says he is.”

Charlie’s eyes bugged and she made a small squeaking sound.

Castiel pressed a finger to his lips. “I have a plan.”

“What?” she breathed.

“We need to question him, which means we need him trapped. I will lay a circle of holy oil and find a way to persuade him into it.”

She stared off in concentration for a moment and then said, “Tell him you want to go outside. Have the oil laid somewhere near the stairs, so he’ll have to cross it.”

That was actually a very good idea. It shouldn’t be hard to persuade the angel to take some air with Castiel. He nodded and popped the trunk, internally hoping Sam and Dean still had a stock of oil there. As he lifted the false bottom, he realized he needn’t have worried. There were two urns of oil among the weapons. He lifted one and slowly closed the trunk so as not to make any more noise than necessary.

“What do I do?” Charlie asked.

“Hide until I call you. Pretend to sleep if you can convincingly.”

“Can do. What are you going to do?”

“I am going to lay the trap and then wait for him to show himself.”

“Think that’ll work?”

“It has to,” Castiel said solemnly. “Because otherwise we have no chance of finding out what else he is lying about.”

“You think he’s lying about Sam?”

“I hope so,” Castiel said. “I truly hope so.”

xXx

The fire burned around the angel in a perfect circle, lighting his familiar features with the flickering flames. His face was set in an expression that looked so wrong on Sam; it was more suited to his soulless self. Castiel knew from that look alone that this was more than a case of false identity. He was hiding something much bigger from them. He hoped it was Sam’s true location.

“Well, Castiel, this is quite the plan you have,” he said. “Trap me and… what? You can’t hurt me without hurting the vessel; you can’t overpower me, so you can do nothing but stand there useless until the oil burns out and frees me. Admittedly, that’ll take some time, but I don’t mind waiting.”

If Castiel hadn’t known before that this wasn’t Ezekiel, he would know now from what he was saying. Ezekiel was a true and good angel. A savior of souls and a friend to Castiel. This angel—whoever he was—was dark and wrong.

“Charlie!” he shouted, sure she would be listening hard for his summons.

There were running footsteps and then Charlie appeared in the doorway. “Wow. It worked,” she said, awestruck.

“Please, could you get Dean?” he asked.

“Yeah. Sure.”

She jogged away and Castiel and the unknown angel were alone again. The angel was staring at the spot Charlie had been, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Who are you really?” Castiel asked.

The angel smiled. “It wouldn’t help you to know. You will be just as helpless as you are now."

“That’s where you are wrong,” Castiel said. “We are never helpless.”

“Like you weren’t when Metatron slit your throat and stole your grace?”

“That was me alone. When we are together, the Winchesters and I are unbeatable.”

“Except… you’re down one Winchester at the moment, aren’t you? It’s just you and two other pathetic humans.”

“Lucifer thought the same, and look what happened to him.”

Castiel heard Dean’s voice then, coming to him from along the hall. “What’s going on, Charlie?”

“Come see,” Charlie said. “I don’t know where to even begin to explain.”

Their voices came closer and then Dean’s shout echoed around the room. “”What the fuck?”

Castiel turned to him as he jogged toward them. “Dean, stay calm,” he pleaded.

Dean’s face was white, and he glared at the angel, his lip curled back with what looked like hatred. “What did you do?” he growled.

The angel smiled blandly at him. “I did what I needed to do.”

Dean turned to Castiel, his eyes demanding an explanation.

“This is not Ezekiel,” Castiel said.

“Then who is it?”

“I don’t know yet. I will find out.”

The angel scoffed. “I thought we’d discussed this already. You have no way of forcing me to tell you who I am. You have nothing that scares me.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “No, but you are scared. You might not look it, but you are. Whoever you are really, you’re in danger, aren’t you?”

Castiel wasn’t sure how she knew, but the way the angel’s lips pressed into a thin line made him sure she was right. This angel may not fear them, but he feared someone. Bartholomew, maybe?

“What did you do to my brother?” Dean snarled.

The angel laughed harshly, a sound so unlike Sam’s usual expression of mirth. “What did I do? I did what was my right to do as an angel. I took a vessel.”

Charlie sneered at him. “You mean you stole one?”

The angel fixed his eyes on Dean. “I didn’t steal, did I, Dean? I was begged to take it. You were so desperate you would have let anyone in. You even enabled me to take him with your trick. ‘ _There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you!’_ You knew exactly what to say to him to make him let me in.  You played on his worst fears and he threw himself open to me.”

“Why would you do it?” Dean asked.

The angel looked confused for a moment, as if he didn’t understand the question, and then he answered and Castiel understood he didn’t understand the reason truly himself. “I wanted to help,” he said slowly. “Yes. I did want to help. I thought I could make amends by doing good, so I came to you in answer to your prayer.”

“What changed?” Charlie asked.

“He did,” the angel nodded to Dean. “I spent weeks inside this vessel, healing, hiding from him—making sure he didn’t cast me out and ruin himself. I was doing the right thing. And then the witch came. She stuffed Sam down so deep I had no chance of finding him. I tried, I did, but then Winchester arrogance and fury reared its head. I was ordered around like I was a lesser being, like a disobedient pet, and it made me angry.”

“So you cast Sam out,” Castiel asked.

“No, that would be too simple. He _was_ gone and not by my hand. It was later that he came back.”

Dean sucked in a breath. “He’s back!”

“No. Not anymore. I took care of him well. Sam really is gone. Natural order has been reestablished. I, the angel of the Lord, have my vessel and the person it was is gone.” He looked down at the fire and smiled. “This will only hold me so long, and then I will be gone.”

“You have to know I will never let that happen,” Dean said.

“You’re probably right. At least I know you will try. I suppose I will have to do something about that.” He sighed. “It’s a shame. I would have left you alive had you let me leave this place in peace.”

“Never going to happen,” Castiel snarled.

“I am sure that’s what you believe,” he replied. “But, as we have discussed, you’re human and powerless against me.”

Suddenly, inexplicably, Dean smiled. “Maybe. But you’re forgetting something. I’ve got the King of Hell in my dungeon, and _he’s_ not powerless.”

“You will make a deal with the demon for this?”

“Absolutely,” Charlie said eagerly. “And best of all, it won’t cost a soul.” Dean and Castiel turned to her and she went on. “Crowley just wants a phone call.”

xXx

Dean’s heart raced as he entered the dungeon. Crowley was sitting in his chair, humming a tune and looking supremely unconcerned.

“Squirrel,” he said cheerfully. “What can I do for you?”

“I want to make a deal,” Dean said without hesitation.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t we been here before? Did you finally decide to quit clutching your pearls and make me an offer?”

“Something like that. I hear you want a phone call.”

Crowley nodded slowly. “Yeah. I do. Depends what it’s going to cost me though. Nothing too taxing I hope. I’m feeling kinda lazy today.”

“I want you to tell me anything you can about expelling an angel. I know there’s a way; Alastair almost did it to Castiel once.”

Crowley smiled cruelly. “Yeah. There’s a spell, calling upon the power of Hell to kick the angel out.”

“Can a human do it?”

Crowley snorted. “Didn’t you hear the part about the power of _Hell_? Sorry, Winchester, you have to be pure and powerful demon to pull it off.”

“So you could do it?”

“As the most powerful demon that has ever been? Duh. ‘Course I can do it.”

“ _Will_ you do it?”

“Depends. Who am I expelling and why?”

“I don’t know his name,” Dean said. “Pretended to be called Ezekiel.”

“And who am I evicting him from?”

Dean took a breath and said, “Sam.”

Crowley laughed. “This sounds like a story I need to hear. C’mon, Winchester, who managed to pry Sam open again and hop a ride? It’s not Lucifer, is it? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’d have felt the shockwave from that. ”

“It’s not Lucifer.” Dean was sure of that much. Lucifer wouldn’t hang around. He would have killed Dean and run the moment he got inside Sam. It didn’t feel like him either. The way he was walking and talking wasn’t Sam but neither was it Lucifer.

“Okay then,” Crowley said. “A phone call for expelling the angel, right? I can do that. It’ll be fun even. It’ll break up the monotony of my day. Ante up a little blood, please,” When Dean hesitated, he said, “I don’t want to call for pizza. I want to call Hell. I need blood for that.”

“Why are you calling Hell?”

“Who else would I want to call?” Crowley asked. “Never mind. Don’t tax your brain, Winchester. I’m not calling for rescue. I just want to talk to Abaddon, check in on what she’s doing and the like.”

If Crowley had forced him, Dean would have dealt for freedom, but the fact he seemed to be happy with a phone call was even better. And if he was calling Abaddon, he wasn’t calling for a rescue. Sam had told him Abaddon came to kill him in the church. She wasn’t going to go out of her way to save him now. Besides, if he started saying things Dean didn’t like, he could end their call easily enough.

“One phone call and you’ll get the angel out of Sam?” he asked.

“Yes,” Crowley said, reaching out a hand to Dean. They shook hands and Crowley grinned. “Let’s get this done.”

Dean walked back into the filing room and picked up the stainless steel bowl he had brought from the kitchen. Crowley’s eyes danced at the sight of it. Dean set it down on the table and pulled his penknife from his pocket. He cut across his arm and allowed the flowing blood to drip down to the bowl. He held it there long enough for a small pool of blood to form, and then he wrapped a rag around the cut and slid the bowl over to Crowley.

Crowley grabbed it and raised it in front of him. _“Inferni sectatores, nunc audite regem.”_ He winked at Dean as the blood began to bubble. “This is Crowley. Put me through to Abaddon.” There was a pause in which the blood bubbled sickeningly, and then Crowley spoke again. “Abaddon, love, we need to talk…”

xXx

Five minutes later, Dean led Crowley through the hall to the main room of the bunker. Crowley looked around as they walked. “Well, this is some place, Squirrel,” he said. “How on earth did you afford it?”

“It was willed to us,” Dean said.

When they came to the room where the angel was trapped, Crowley laughed. “Look at that; Sam Winchester playing pony to an angel again.” He squinted. “You, I don’t know, though. What’s the name, feathers?”

The angel merely glared at him.

“Not feeling chatty? Not to worry. I’ll cast you out regardless.”

“You are making a mistake,” the angel warned.

“The mistake was letting you in,” Dean said.

Crowley tapped the collar around his neck. “I need to actually access the power of hell, so you’re going to need to get this off.”

Dean hesitated for a moment, and then looked in Sam’s stolen face. This was the only way, he reminded himself, to get Sam back. He unlocked the collar and lifted it away from Crowley who rolled his shoulders and rubbed his throat.

“Damn, that feels better,” he said, satisfied.

“Get to it then,” Dean said. “Give me my brother back.”

“Happy to oblige,” Crowley said. “You might want to look away though. The light show from this is pretty impressive.”

Dean kept his eyes fixed into the circle of fire. A side glance told him Charlie and Castiel were doing the same.

“Fine, it’s your retinas,” Crowley said. He cracked his knuckles and grinned at the angel. “Ready for a bout?”

He stepped carefully over the flames and into the trap. The angel swung an upper cut at him, and Crowley laughed as he caught his wrist and pushed him back a few steps.

“Be careful!” Dean shouted. If an angel passed through the fire, they were destroyed. Dean was pretty sure that went for the vessel too.

“Oops, sorry,” Crowley said, obviously unconcerned.

The angel swung another punch and Crowley chuckled as he gripped the angel’s arm and pulled it behind his back. As strong as angels were, they were obviously no match for the King of Hell. Though he struggled, he couldn’t free himself. Crowley swept his feet from under him and the angel fell to the floor.

“Crowley,” Dean warned.

“Don’t worry, Squirrel. I won’t let a hair of this flowing mane get even a little singed.” He pressed a knee to the angel’s chest and pushed down hard. The angel punched and clawed at him, but for all the reaction Crowley gave, he might not have bothered.

Crowley laid his hand on the angel’s forehead and began to chant, _“_ _Potestas inferna, me confirma._ _Potestas inferna, me confirma_.” Light began to glow from the point they were connected.

“This is a mistake,” the angel rasped.

 _“Potestas inferna, me confirma,”_ Crowley continued. 

“You’ll never find him!”

Crowley’s voice rose to a shout, _“Potestas inferna, me confirma!”_

Light poured from Crowley’s hand and Dean’s eyes squeezed shut. He heard a rushing noise and then felt heat on his face, like leaning too close to a burner. There was a grunt, a thud and then Crowley spoke. “Up you come, Moose.”

Dean’s eyes opened and he saw, through spots dancing in his vision, Crowley hefting Sam over the flames and setting him down on the floor.  

“Sam!” Dean rushed over to him and dropped to his knees beside him. Sam’s eyes were closed and his skin pale. “Sammy, wake up!” he commanded, shaking his shoulders. Sam’s head jostled but that was the only movement.

He felt people crowding at his sides, but he paid them no attention until other hands began touching Sam. He shoved them away.

“Dean, stop!” Castiel commanded as Charlie said, “I am trying to help. Let me work.”

Dean’s hands fell back to his sides as reason caught up to him. Charlie. Castiel. They wouldn’t hurt Sam. But Crowley would… His head snapped up and he saw Crowley walking calmly away. Dean didn’t care in that moment if he was making his escape as long as he stayed away from Sam.

“Sam, can you hear me?” Charlie was asking loudly. “Can you open your eyes?”

Dean watched as she leaned over him, holding her cheek above his parted lips. She straightened and pressed her fingers to his throat.

“He’s not…” Castiel started tentatively.

“He’s alive,” she replied, rubbing her knuckles into Sam’s sternum, getting no reaction.

“Then why isn’t he waking up?” Castiel asked.

Charlie looked at Dean as she answered. “I don’t know.”

Dean swallowed hard. “He’s not in there, is he? He’s still missing.”


	10. Chapter 10

Dean wished he was drunk still.

He wished he was so loaded that his eyes blurred and his head buzzed and normal thinking was an impossibility, because then perhaps he would be able to handle the fact his brother was lying there, expressionless, unresponsive, a shell.

It wasn’t the fact that he was unconscious that worried Dean. That he had dealt with a hundred times before, when some fugly had gotten a lucky punch in on Sam, when he’d been thrown into a wall, when he’d been dying. He could handle that, as he’d been able to help him then. He could wait it out, he could shake him till he woke, or he could find an angel to stuff down his throat. That wouldn’t work now though, and that was what made this Dean’s hell. There was nothing he could think to do.

Sam was lying on the bed where they’d placed him, perfectly indifferent to the movement around him. Dean had insisted they move him from the floor of the war room, but he had quickly realized that was about him not Sam. Sam didn’t care that he was lying on soft foam now instead of the hard floor because he was past awareness. He didn’t feel the pain Charlie was inflicting. His eyes didn’t react to the light that filled his vision when she pulled back an eyelid. He didn’t hear them calling him.

He was missing. At least Dean hoped he was still missing because the other option was that he _was_ just unconscious, that the angel hadn’t healed him as he had promised, and Sam wasn’t waking up because the massive amount of damage there had been back in that hospital when they were telling him Sam was doomed was still there. Because that meant, soon, Sam was going to die and Dean wasn’t sure if this time Death would allow himself to be evaded by angel or demon deal. If the guy could kill God, it was pretty much guaranteed that he could best Crowley.  

Charlie stepped back from the bed and Dean looked at her hopefully.

“I don’t know, Dean,” she said in response to his unasked question. “All I know is that he’s deeply unconscious.”

Castiel turned away from the bed and blew out a harsh breath. “Unconscious,” he said scathingly. “I need my grace! If I had it, I could _see_ what is needed.”

Crowley strolled into the room then, a glass of whiskey in his hand. “You need to stock better stuff if you want to keep your liver, Squirrel,” he said, raising the glass.

Charlie cast him a glare and Crowley raised an eyebrow, goading her, and then peered past her to Sam. Dean felt an irrational urge to step between him and Sam, as if Crowley’s now concentrated stare would harm him.

“Well, well, well, Winchester,” he said, “What kind of dangerous games have you been boys been playing this time?”

Dean’s attention snapped to him. Crowley had demonic perception; maybe he could see what was going on with Sam. “You know what’s happened to him?” he asked.

“No. I wouldn’t be asking if I knew, now, would I?”

Castiel seemed to catch on at the same moment as Charlie. She gasped, and Castiel asked, “What do you see, Crowley?”

Crowley looked from face to face and smiled. “Wow. You don’t even know, do you?”

“What can you see?” Castiel asked in a demanding tone.

“Three piss-scared humans at the moment,” he said in a tone of mirth.

“And Sam?” Dean asked.

“Can’t see him,” Crowley said blithely. “Well, I can see an abused gigantor body, but the moose himself, he ain’t in there.” He shrugged. “My condolences for your loss.”

Dean disregarded the insincere words and fixed on the rest of what Crowley was saying. Sam wasn’t in there.  He was still lost, which meant there was hope.

“That’s why the angel was running the switches then,” Crowley went on. “I did wonder how he went from walking corpse to a Men’s Health model overnight. One thing… Why didn’t Moose cast the angel out himself when the angel started taking over? We all know he’s capable of it.”

“Sam’s not in his body?” Dean asked, ignoring Crowley’s question

“Nope,” Crowley said. “Can’t see a sign of him. I guess that’s why he didn’t cast out Feathers. Hard to do when you’re not actually there.”

“Do you know where he is?” Castiel asked hopefully.

“Not a clue,” Crowley said cheerfully.

Dean turned away from the demon and looked at Sam again. No, not Sam. Just Sam’s body—his living but empty body. What was he supposed to do now? How could he get Sam back when they didn’t know where he was?

“Missing,” Castiel said in a musing tone.

“Yeah,” Dean said in a dead tone. “Gone.”

“No,” Castiel argued. “If he was gone, he would be dead. There is still something of Sam somewhere as he’s living.  He’s missing. Think what that angel said—‘You’ll never find him’—He knew where Sam was.”

“Oh,” Charlie said. “And we just sent him back out into the world to find a new vessel. He could be anyone at all at now…”

“We couldn’t have found out even if we’d kept him here,” Castiel said. “He wasn’t going to tell us willingly, and there’s no way we could have made him talk.”

“Speak for yourself,” Crowley said. “I could have made him talk.”

“Without hurting Sam?” Castiel snapped. “No. You could not.”

Crowley shrugged. “I’d only have hurt him a little. I’m good at what I do.”

“You’re not torturing Sam,” Charlie said stridently

Crowley rolled his eyes. “No point doing it now anyway, is there? He’s not home for visitors.” Suddenly, inexplicably, he grinned. “That’s not to say you’re completely without hope though, is it? You’ve got Squirrel.”

Dean’s gaze snapped to the demon. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing is ever truly lost. People just stop looking before they find it. I can’t see the moose, and he’s not in there, so where is he? He has to be somewhere. Way I see it, _you_ just need to look harder.”

Dean was confused. He thought he had done everything possible to find Sam. If he wasn’t in the veil or within a demon’s perception, where was Dean supposed to look next?

“Dean has looked—“ Castiel cut himself off. “Oh.”

“Oh what, Cas?” Dean asked. “What are you thinking?”

Crowley answered for him. “You and Sam have your super-fun codependency thing going on. Luckily, it’s more than just bad parenting. You’re connected.”

“Special case…” Dean breathed.

“Soul mates,” Crowley corrected. “You have an actual spiritual lifeline connecting the two of you. You could try, I don’t know, _using it!_ ”

“How?” Dean asked. “What do I do? How do I do it?”

“With difficulty and risk, kinda like Russian roulette with only one empty chamber.” 

“What’s the risk? Charlie asked.

“That he loses himself along with Sam,” Castiel said.

Dean disregarded his words. He had already lost himself—without Sam, he wasn’t sure who he was anymore. If there was a chance this would work, he would do it.

“You’ll need an anchor,” Crowley said. “Someone that you trust, so not me, obviously. Someone that’s strong enough to tether you.”

Dean turned to Castiel. “You up for it?”

Castiel looked uncertain. “You need to have a strong bond of trust in your anchor, and I…”

“You think I don’t trust you? I do, Cas. Maybe I don’t always show it, but I do. We both do. If anyone’s getting Sammy back, it’s us. Okay?”

Castiel looked pleased as he nodded. “Yes. I am more than happy to help.”

“Okay, what do we need to do?” Dean asked.

“Well, first off, you’re going to need to bleed,” Crowley said.

xXx

Once, when Dean was around ten years old, he and Sam had become blood brothers. They’d seen it on a movie, and it had seemed perfectly sensible to use the tip of Dean’s penknife to prick their thumbs and rub them together, making them tied for all time. Neither of them realized they were tied for all time by virtue of the fact they were brothers, as well as a special case, already. It had mattered to them both though, and when Crowley explained what he and Castiel had to do to form the anchor, he thought it was just one more perfect piece of the puzzle slipping into place. It was more than a finger prick, but the message was the same—you and I are in it now forever, you are one of us.

“I should say it, right?” Charlie asked. “Someone should say it. This is all kinds of shady, guys. Surely there’s a better, safer, way to bind yourselves than a blood exchange.”

Castiel blinked at her and Dean shook his head. “It’s magic, Charlie. That generally means things get bloody. Besides, it’s for Sam.”

Charlie nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I’m sorry.”

Dean cut across his palm with his penknife, barely feeling the sting, and pumped his fist to make the blood flow. Castiel hesitated before doing the same, unaccustomed to bleeding at will as Dean and Sam were. When they both had bloody palms, they shook hands and Castiel gripped Dean’s tightly as he said his portion of the required Latin. _“Tenetur a sanguine.”_

 _“T_ _enetur in vita_ _,”_ Dean finished.

He expected to feel something different, some charge between them, but all he felt was the stickiness of their clasped hands and worry that this was going to fail. He released Castiel’s hand and wiped his own on the damp cloth Charlie handed him.

“You sure it worked?” he asked.

“It’s a spiritual thing more than physical,” Castiel said. “It will work, I am sure. Are you ready?”

Dean nodded and sat down on the bed beside Sam. Castiel picked up the mug of murky brown water with herbs floating on the top from the bedside table and held it out to Dean. “Drink it all.”

Dean grimaced. It looked even less appetizing than Missouri’s tea. Castiel had explained that it was designed to open his mind the way dream root did, though he would not be sleeping. He would be in a meditative state. He drained it in three swallows and gasped at the bitter taste.

“Just as we discussed,” Castiel said. “Deep breaths and try to block everything out but your heartbeat until you feel the change.”

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He tried to empty his mind, but Sam’s face kept coming to the fore, reminding him and taunting him. He pressed his fingers to his own throat, finding his pulse and trying to find it in his body, too. It was faster than usual, stressed, and he wondered how he was supposed to reach anything like a meditative state when he was so wired. Sam’s face came to the fore again, younger, happier, and freer than Dean had seen in a long time. Instead of pushing it away, he held onto it, and he felt the change. His heartbeat began to thrum in his ears, slower now. His hand dropped back to his lap and he opened his eyes.

Everything had changed. Charlie and Castiel were still there, he could almost hear them, but the rest of the room was silent but for the sound of his heartbeat. The room seemed shrouded in a kind of mist. He looked around and his eyes fell on his brother where he seemed to hover in the haze.

Sam’s face was expressionless, just as it had been before, but that felt wrong to Dean, as if he was sensing something more than what was there.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” he said automatically. “I’m coming.”

His words made no difference to the feeling of wrong that emanated from Sam.

Dean took another breath. “Just show me where you are.”

A feeling of warmth spread across his chest, not comforting, more agitating that anything. It worried him. It felt like something was dragging at him, right above his heart. He leaned forward slightly to ease the pressure, and then he saw it. There was a light leading between his chest and Sam’s. It was like a rope, twisted tightly and white. Dean’s hand reached for it, and the moment it touched, he felt a rush of something like bliss.

“Sammy?”

Sam remained perfectly neutral, but the light burgeoned in his hand, almost like it was reacting to him, searching for him the way he was searching for Sam. He knew, without knowing how, that it was Sam, or at least what was left of him. This light, their connection, was where Sam now lay.

How could he ever leave?

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The words had no sooner left his mouth than he heard his name being shouted and a felt stinging pain on his cheek. The light, the mist, Sam, disappeared and he was back in the bedroom with Castiel, Charlie, and Crowley standing and Sam on the bed.

The stinging pain had been Charlie slapping him he surmised, because she was rubbing her red palm.

“What the hell?” he asked, rubbing his own cheek.

“We almost lost you,” she said accusingly, glaring at Castiel.

Dean looked at Sam and felt a wave of frustration. He had found his brother and they had dragged him away from him.

“What did you see, Dean?” Castiel asked, ignoring Charlie’s huffs of annoyance.

“I…“ Dean shook his head and tried to make sense of his thoughts. “I found the bond, but I didn’t find him. I could only see him there the way I see him here. There was this light connecting us, but it only led to his body. There was nothing that tells me where he is.” He raked a hand through his hair.

Castiel looked disappointed. “There was nothing that led you away from his body?”

“No,” Dean said angrily, then his voice rose to a shout. “Dammit!”

“What do we do?” Charlie asked Castiel.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I assumed Dean would find him somewhere outside of his body, giving us a clue as to what we need to do to bring him back, but if there was only a connection to his body… Sam is truly lost.”

Dean groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“Or not,” Crowley said pointedly.

Dean looked up and saw the demon standing in the doorway, looking amused.

“If you can only see him in his body, doesn’t it make sense that maybe he is _in_ _his body_?”

“But you said you couldn’t find him,” Castiel said. 

“I did say that,” Crowley agreed.

“You were lying,” Charlie accused.

“No, but just because you can’t see something, doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

Dean and Charlie exchanged a glance. Missouri had said the same thing. That didn’t explain how they could get him back though.

“You think he’s in his body but hidden somehow?” Castiel asked.

“Well, duh, that’s what Squirrel saw, isn’t it? And as it happens, I know how you can get him out again.”

“How?” Dean asked, lurching toward Crowley. “Dammit, how?”

Crowley leered at him. “Well, it’s going to take another deal.”  


	11. Chapter 11

Another deal. Of course it was going to take a deal; from what Charlie knew of the demon, he wouldn’t do anything without a deal that weighted things in his favor. He was a Grade A asshole, but apparently the only one that knew how to get Sam back judging from the blank looks on Dean and Castiel’s faces. Charlie had no more idea than them either; she just knew they had to.

Dean loomed over the demon, his hands coming up to grip his lapels. “Dammit, Crowley, tell me how!”

Crowley pushed him back a few steps and brushed his hands down his front, as if brushing away dirt. “Let’s all keep our hands to ourselves, shall we?”

Dean’s own hands fisted, but he didn’t make another move toward the demon. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet and looked like he was making a concentrated effort to not attack when Crowley was so obviously enjoying his fear and panic. Charlie could relate. Every time her eyes fell on the figure on the bed, she felt a pang in her chest. It had been days of trying and failing to get Sam back, and now she knew the angel they’d thought was fighting on their side had been working against them instead. He was the reason they couldn’t have Sam back, because whatever he had done had pushed Sam so far down that not even a demon could see him. Which begged the question of what he was going to do to save Sam if he couldn’t see him.

“What exactly do you want us to deal for?” Castiel asked.  

Crowley grinned. “Well, I’ve got quite the bucket list where you’re all concerned to be honest. I’d like eternal servitude and the chance to give the moose a buzz cut, but I’ll settle for my freedom and a little… assistance.”

“You want our help?” Castiel asked.

“Not yours. You’re no more useful than a chocolate teapot these days. But Squirrel and Mr. Coma over there, yeah,” Crowley said. “I’ve got something of a situation going on at the moment with Abaddon, and I figured they could help me out. They have a stunning history of beating the odds and taking down the bad guy. I want to tap into that.”

“You are the bad guy, Crowley,” Castiel stated.

“Usually, yes. Probably now even, but I am also the devil you know. Abaddon is up to all kinds of nastiness, and she needs to be stopped.”

“What kind of nastiness?” Charlie asked.

“Glad you asked, Barbie,” Crowley said. “Little minx has called in all my deals early, wiping away any semblance of buyer confidence I had built up. She’s ‘restructuring’ Hell to make it what it was back in the infernal old days—chaos, basically.”

“That doesn’t seem like our problem,” Charlie said.

“Of course not, dear,” Crowley said sarcastically. “It’s not your problem until that chaos starts spilling out topside. She won’t be satisfied ruling Hell. She’s going to want the earth, too. She’s Lucifer’s own—handpicked by the Devil himself. She’s not going to respect the boundaries I’ve kept to. There’s rules, dammit, a few demons here, and few humans there, and she’s breaking them all!”

“Okay,” Dean said. “We get the point. And we’ll help you, but you _have_ to get Sammy back first.”

“Wait!” Castiel said harshly, stepping between Dean and Crowley. “We need to make sure this can’t backfire on us, Dean.”

“You can trust me,” Crowley said.

Castiel cast him a look of scathing. “We cannot trust him. Think of everything he has done to us, to the world, to _Sam_.”

He seemed to have found the right words to make Dean pause. He stepped back and nodded.

Castiel turned to Crowley and asked, “The exact details of the deal?”

“Simple exchange,” Crowley said, addressing Dean rather than Castiel. “You let me go free and when it comes down to the Boss Fight with Abaddon, you’re on my side not hers.”

“Why would they be on her side?” Charlie asked suspiciously.  

“Because they detest me. Unfortunately, I’m the lesser of two magnificent evils in this situation, so they don’t really have a choice.”

“And in exchange for this help, what will you do?” Castiel asked.

“I’ll get the moose out of whatever hidey-hole he’s got himself stuck in. I figure that feathered pest stuffed him down deep enough that he can’t find his way out on his own. I’ll give him a hand.”

“How do you propose to do that?”

Crowley looked at him like he was being a little simple. “By possessing him.”

Dean took a step back and Charlie winced. If she had thought about it, she would have guessed that would be the solution, but she’d been preoccupied by the deal part of the problem.

Crowley continued blithely. “When we possess a person, we possess _all_ of them. We have access to everything and that’s exactly what I’ll need to find him—everything in his mind. That’s where he’s trapped, I’d bet a bottle of Craig, so that’s where I need to be.”

Dean shuddered.

“Of course I could do it old school,” Crowley said. “Remember Samandriel? I got into his head pretty well. I could try the same with Sam.”

“No!” Dean said, looking sickened.

Crowley laughed. “Didn’t think so. So, do we have a deal?”

“One more thing,” Castiel said as Dean opened his mouth to answer. “You will have to swear to leave Sam as soon as you find him. You cannot run wild with him as a meat suit.”

“Not a problem,” Crowley said. “I’m scared of heights anyway.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. Dean turned to him hopefully. “Anything else, Cas?”

“No,” Castiel said. “I think that’s it.”

“Wait,” Charlie said quickly. “Are we _sure_ about this? Is stuffing him with a demon a good idea after how stuffing him with an angel ended?” She jerked her head at Crowley. “And he _is_ evil.”

“I am,” Crowley said happily. “But I am also honest. I’m not going to screw them over. This time, I am going to save the day.”

“We really don’t have a choice,” Dean said, looking down at his brother. “We’ve got to get him back. We’ve got a deal.” He held out a hand to Crowley and they shook. Dean pulled the penknife from his pocket again and tugged Sam’s shirt open to reveal the anti-possession tattoo. He cut a line through it, making blood well and breaking its clean lines. “When you find him, say Poughkeepsie.”

“Aw, you have code words,” Crowley said in an indulgent tone. “What does this one mean? Trust the devilishly handsome demon come to rescue you?”

“It doesn’t matter what it means,” Dean said. “Sam will know.”

Crowley bounced on the balls of his feet like a diver preparing to jump, and then his head flew back and a cloud of red smoke poured from his mouth and into Sam’s.

Charlie’s wide eyes followed it and she breathed, “Whoa,” as the last of it disappeared into Sam. “Now what?” she asked.

“Now,” Castiel said. “We wait.”

Dean stood over Sam, his eyes tight with tension. “C’mon, Sammy. You can do it.”

xXx

Sam was sprinting along the corridors, one destination in mind but no real hope he would reach it before he was caught.

He reached a fork in the path and he stopped for a moment, trying to catch his breath. There was no way to remember which path he had chosen last time as they were all identical, that was if he had even been here before. The Cage was endless, a constant maze of stone walls. The icy air of the place had long since steeped into his bones, but he still blew on his hands to warm them as he pondered the paths ahead of him.

He would perhaps have stayed there longer had it not been for the footsteps that advanced behind him. He went right and set off at a run again. With the sound of his pursuers getting closer, he knew he would not escape, they would always find him, but he was not defeated yet. It was not in his nature to give in easily. He was a Winchester, taught by the best.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, he collided with something warm and solid. He stumbled back a few steps and looked up into the angel’s eyes.

“Hello, Sam,” Michael said. “Did you enjoy your little exercise?”

Sam almost groaned at his defeat.

The footsteps behind him slowed and stopped, and the hated voice said. “Oh good. You found him.”

Sam turned reluctantly and looked into Lucifer’s smug face. He glared all his hatred at the fallen angel. “Fuck you,” he snarled.

“Now, is that polite?” Lucifer asked. “We allowed you your little jaunt, a reprieve as it were, now you’re being rude. I don’t care for that, Sam.”

“Where is Dean?” Sam asked.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Always the same question. When are you doing to get it through your thick skull that he’s not here?”

“If he’s not here, where is he?” Sam asked.

“Probably in a sleazy bar somewhere,” Michael said. “Drinking away his woes and sadness for his fallen brother. Though, does it count as fallen when you throw yourself into the pit willingly?”

“No,” Sam said stubbornly. “That’s wrong. I got out.”

Michael sighed. “So you keep saying, but if you got out, how are you here? Did you happen to slip and fall into another portal?”

“Cas got me out,” Sam said. “He got my body out and Death came back for my soul.”

“No,” Lucifer said slowly. “That’s what we wanted you to think. That was all a dream, remember? A hallucination. As if Castiel, that stunted seraph, could breach the Cage and steal anything from under our noses, let alone our favorite bunkmate.”

“He did though,” Sam said persistently. “I was out and then Eve came, and the Leviathans and the angels fell. I remember all those things!”

“You remember the lie, that is all,” Lucifer said.

Sam shook his head. “No! It’s the witch. She did something to me.” That was what scared Sam. If she was powerful enough to trap Sam in the cage again, what had she done to Dean and Charlie? They needed him and he was trapped.

“The Wicked Witch of the West?” Lucifer laughed.

“I am bored of this,” Michael said. “There is no point talking to him; he’s deranged.”

Lucifer tapped his chin.  “You may be right. We might as well get back to the fun part.” He snapped his fingers and Sam found himself bound to the wall again by iron shackles. Lucifer stood in front of him, his blade drawn and a look of anticipation on his face.

Lucifer thrust his hand out, and Sam cried out as the knife pierced his stomach, leaving burning pain in its wake.

“Did you enjoy that?” Lucifer asked mildly.

Sam clenched his jaw shut, refusing to answer. He would not give them the satisfaction. They could make him scream and howl, he couldn’t stop that, but he would not play their game.

“I asked,” Lucifer said with a twist and push of the blade, “did you enjoy that?”

Sam howled as the tip of the knife scraped his spine. He could hear it even through his cries. It was the most horrific thing.

“Not feeling chatty?” Lucifer asked. “Shame.”

“I don’t know why you care, Lucifer” Michael said. “He makes the sounds you like most of all.” 

“I like a little back and forth,” Lucifer said petulantly. “It enhances the experience for us all.” He leaned close to Sam. “Doesn’t it, Sam?”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut.

“That just won’t do,” Michael said. “Let’s take away his eyelids.”

Lucifer laughed cruelly.

Sam sucked in a harsh breath and tried to prepare himself for the agony, but it didn’t come. Instead, there was a familiar voice and they all turned to see the newcomer. The stone walls had disappeared to be replaced by wide metal bars. Crowley stood just outside them, peering in.  

“Wow, imagination doesn’t really do it justice,” he said. “I mean, I knew it would be bad, but eyelids? I’m definitely keeping that one for myself.”

“Crowley!” Sam gasped.

The demon spread his arms at his sides. “The one and only. How’re you doing, Moose?”

“Demon,” Michael spat.

“King, actually,” Crowley corrected.

“Let me guess, you’re here to try to save him,” Lucifer said, his tone amused.

“Yeah, pretty much, apart from trying. I’m _going_ to save him, or more specifically, he will save himself.”

“I’ve tried,” Sam said desperately.

“You obviously haven’t tried hard enough,” Crowley said dryly. “Now come on. Click your heels together three times and we’ll get you home to Toto, who just happens to be worrying himself into an aneurism over you.”

“Dean?” Sam breathed. “You’ve seen him? He’s okay?”

“Not particularly. Physically, he’s mostly okay though—apart from that whole aneurism thing. I wasn’t kidding. He doesn’t do well without you.”

Sam bucked against his restraints. ”I’m trapped!”

“Only by your own mind.” Crowley rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. One moment he was outside the cage, looking in at them, the next he was in front of Sam. Lucifer and Michael reached for him, their eyes alight with malice, but Crowley merely waved a hand through the air and they disappeared.

“How did you do that?” Sam asked.

“We’ve got what you might call a time share on your mind right now. I got the angel out of you, and I popped in for a search and rescue mission.”

“Angel?” Sam asked.

Crowley sighed. “Fine. Let’s play catch-up. See, first there was a witch in your head, then there was an angel, and now me. Oh, and you and Dean are soulmates, so that’s nice.”

“I didn’t let an angel in.”

“That’s something I think you should talk about with your brother, Moose. I only got the cliff-notes version of what happened. Now, for the sake of all things infernal, let’s get out of here.” He grabbed the shackles holding Sam to the wall and tore them apart easily, freeing Sam. “Focus on what you want,“ he said. 

“Dean," Sam breathed.

“Exactly. Now hold him in your Cro-Magnon head and get us out.”

Sam wasn’t sure he believed Crowley, it could be another trick from the angels, but he thought it couldn’t hurt to try. He closed his eyes and fixed Dean’s face in his mind and pushed at the pressure against him. It was like trying to move a brick wall with his bare hands.

“That’s it,” Crowley said. “Put your back into it.”

“I can’t,” Sam groaned, shaking his head in frustration.

“You can. Suddenly, an inexplicable smile spread across Crowley’s features. “Poughkeepsie.”

“What?” Sam asked.

“It’s code or something, right? Dean said you’d know what it meant.”

Poughkeepsie meant drop everything and run. Only he and Dean knew that, which meant this was real. Crowley was there; Sam _could_ get free and back to Dean.

The realization worked like a surge of adrenaline. The wall suddenly felt like cardboard. Sam pushed hard against it, feeling the give, and then it tore. He forced himself through the hole and back into the world and a new pain.  

xXx

“You see that?” Charlie asked.

Like Dean could miss it. There was a trickle of blood coming from Sam’s nose, dripping down the side of his face. Dean wiped at it with the cuff of his shirt. “C’mon, Sammy,” he murmured.

Suddenly, Sam jolted as if he’d been given an electric shock. Panic gripped Dean and he bowed over the bed, shouting his brother’s name, just as Sam’s mouth flew open and red smoke poured out of it and back into Crowley’s meat suit.

There was a moment of silence but for the pounding of Dean’s heartbeat in his ears, and then Crowley said, “Well, that was different.”

Dean stared down at Sam, willing him to move, to gasp, to open his eyes, but there was no movement.

“It didn’t work,” he said in a kind of moan.

“’Course it did,” Crowley said.

“You found him?” Charlie asked eagerly.

“You think I’m some kind of amateur? Of course I found him. Just give him a minute and he’ll come round. He is only working at half power on account of those pesky internal injuries.”

“Internal injuries?” Castiel asked in a strained tone, but at that moment Sam drew in a deep, heaving breath and his eyes opened, drawing all attention to him.

For a moment, he just lay still, blinking rapidly and drawing deep breaths, and then he said, “Dean?” weakly.

“I’m here,” Dean said, relief making his own voice sound weak in his ears. “You’re okay.”

Sam’s eyes fixed on him. “Oh thank God,” he whispered. He tried to push himself upright, but his arms shook with the effort. Dean knew what he needed though, and he pulled him up and into his arms. He clung to him, feeling the warm comforting weight of Sam’s living and animated body, and he blinked tears out of his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Sam said reassuringly though a little weakly. “It’s okay, Dean.”

Dean knew that wasn’t entirely true. He had his brother back at last, but there was still much to explain and admit. Sam needed to hear the full story of what had happened and why, and he wasn’t going to be happy, but for now, Dean was just glad he was there, alive, in his arms.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam’s skin was sallow grey, almost as pale as the pillows he reclined against. Dean had propped him up so Sam was only half lying down. Dean told himself he did it for Sam’s comfort, he seemed to find it easier to breathe when he was higher in the bed, but the truth was when he was lying flat, looking as sick as he did, it was all too easy to remember that hospital room where a doctor had told him there was no hope for recovery. He was better than that now, Dean knew. Sam was awake and talking, whereas then he had been deeply unconscious, but the rest of the tableau… it was a little too familiar.

Dean was overwhelmed with relief that Sam was back, awake, talking, himself again, but the internal injuries Crowley had mentioned and the wrecked look of his brother made him think their struggle wasn’t over yet. Ezekiel, or whoever he had really been, had obviously healed him some, but was it enough for Sam to make it?

Dean shook his head briskly at the thought. Sam hadn’t made it this far to be defeated by the trial damage now. His fear was compounded slightly by Charlie’s pleas though.

“Please, Sam, you need professional care,” she said, perching on the side of his bed.

Sam shook his head. It seemed even that small movement took effort. “Not happening, Charlie. It’s too much of a risk with our history.”

She turned to look at Dean imploringly. “Help me out, will ya?”

Dean looked past her to Sam. “Maybe she’s right?”

“No,” Sam said. “If it gets that bad, I will go, or you can take me, but we’re not there right now.”

 _I’m not dying yet._ The words went unspoken but they were in the air regardless. If Sam was bad enough that it looked like it was risk arrest or death, they could take him to the hospital, but not before. How screwed up were their lives when that was a valid choice for them?

“We don’t have Cas’ healing anymore, Sam,” Dean reminded him, making the angel shift uncomfortably on the other side of the bed.

Sam shot Castiel an understanding smile. “That’s okay. I can kick this on my own. I just need rest.” As if to punctuate the point, he yawned widely, covering his mouth with a hand.

Charlie bit her lip. “I don’t know, Sam…”

“I do,” Sam said firmly. “We can talk about it later. Right now, I just want to sleep.”

Still looking uncertain, Charlie nodded. “Okay. Fine. You win this round, Winchester, but only for now. I’ll be back to check on you soon.”

Sam reached a shaking hand across the blankets and patted her arm. “Thanks, Charlie.”

“Yes,” Dean said seriously, “Thank you, Charlie, really. You, too, Cas.”

Castiel nodded and Charlie grinned and got to her feet. “I don’t know about you guys, but I need a coffee.”

“Be right out,” Dean said. “Cas, want to help her?”

Castiel took the hint and after nodding to Sam, he followed her out of the room.

Sam watched them go and then he smiled slightly at Dean. “You don’t have to stay either. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah, you can say that,” Dean growled. “But you disappeared standing right next to me, Sam.”

“Sorry,” Sam said. “I’ll try not to do that again.” He cracked a smile. “Seriously, though, go get a drink or something at least. You look like you need it. I’m just going to sleep.” When Dean still didn’t move, he said, “Come on, Dean. Take a break. You’re wrecked. I can tell.”

Dean sighed. “Fine. I’m going to get a drink, and you get some sleep, and then we can talk.”

“Sure,” Sam said drowsily, settling back against his pillows and closing his eyes. “We’ll talk.”

He must have been truly exhausted as his breaths quickly became soft sighs of sleep and he relaxed. Dean stayed a moment longer, unwilling to leave his brother alone. It occurred to him, though, that in Sam’s position, he would want a little space, too. And he really did need a drink. Not a coffee. A real drink; something to wash away the anxiety and bad taste of the past days of worry and fear.  

“Be right back,” he said softly, and then slipped out of the room. Almost as soon as he was away from Sam, he wanted to turn around and go back. He forced one foot in front of the other though, and turned the corner, almost walking straight into Crowley where he stood leaning against the wall with a glass of amber liquid in his hand and a smug smile in place.

“Moose taking a nap?” he asked.

Dean walked past him without a word.

“Now, is that polite?” Crowley asked. “I’m the reason he’s here and capable of snoozing right now. A little conversation isn’t too much to ask for.”

“What do you want, Crowley?”

“First of all, some thanks,” he replied. “I heard you throwing around the gratitude in there, and I noticed my name didn’t come up, which I think is pretty rude since I’m the one that actually did the saving.”

“We’re grateful,” Dean said, “But don’t pretend you did it for any reason other than to serve yourself. We made a deal. Had I refused to do that, you wouldn’t have lifted a finger for us, for Sam.”

“True,” Crowley conceded. “But we did and I did. And in that spirit, I thought I’d do you another solid.”

Dean frowned. “What can you do for us now? You can’t fix Sam.”

“True. I can’t, not without a deal anyway, and you’ve got nothing else I want. No. This is a bonus gift: a little information before I bow out and leave you to your deathbed vigil.”

Dean swallowed hard and Crowley laughed.

“Okay,” he said. “Maybe not _deathbed_ , but Moose is in bad shape. I was in him and I felt what he feels. He’s a mess.”

Dean nodded stiffly. “Okay,” he said, forcing his tone to remain even. “What else do you want to tell us?”

“Where I found him when he was stuffed down deep. See, I’m guessing he’s going to be a little close-lipped about where that angel stuffed him, and I thought, as his brother, it’s your right to know.”

“Where was he?” Dean asked, wondering why the question hadn’t occurred to him before. He supposed he’d just been so relieved to have Sam back with him that he hadn’t worried about where he had been. The fact that Crowley seemed so eager to tell him made him think that it wasn’t anywhere good.

“Hell,” Crowley said. “That naughty angel stuffed him back in the Cage. Not the real Cage of course, but a combination of Sam’s memories and imaginings of it.”

Dean swayed and gripped the wall for support.

Crowley went on gleefully. “I know torture, Dean, _you_ know torture, but neither of us knows _anything_ compared to those two archangels. They are artists in the purest sense of the word. The things they did to him…”

“Stop,” Dean croaked, nausea rolling in his stomach.

Crowley smiled smugly. “Just thought you ought to know. Well, that’s me done for now. I’m going to make tracks. I’ll call when I need you next. And you will answer, understand?”

Dean nodded, barely aware of what he was doing. It was taking all his effort to keep himself from vomiting. Crowley sauntered away along the hall, and then stopped at the end and turned back.

“You want to know the sad thing? Even with what they were doing to him, all Moose was worried about was you. He thought something bad had happened to you. Can you begin to even fathom that kind of devotion?” He scoffed. “Soul mates.”

Dean bent over and vomited on the floor.

xXx

Charlie ran the cloth over Sam’s brow, and followed it with her bare hand. Sam’s skin felt dry and far too hot. Sam leaned into her touch and murmured his brother’s name weakly.

Charlie’s teeth snapped together with an audible click and she didn’t answer.

Castiel leaned closer from his place on the other side of the bed and said, “He’ll be here soon, Sam. He’s getting something to help you.”

Charlie scowled at him and he hissed at her. “What do you want me to say?”

Sam turned toward him. “Cas?”

“I am here,” he said gently. “So is Charlie.”

Sam nodded and then turned his face into the pillow and stifled a groan.

“We need to get him to a hospital,” she said.

“No,” Sam said, his voice stronger than it had been all night. “It’ll pass. I’ve beaten worse.” His bloodshot eyes opened and he looked at Castiel. “Right, Cas?”

Castiel nodded regretfully. “You have.”

Charlie knew that, but there was a difference between beating the devil and beating this kind of human frailty. She had to respect his wishes though. Sam’s will had been overpowered too many times in his life, most recently by the angel posing as Ezekiel, and he deserved the chance to make his choices now, even though it scared Charlie more than she could say.

She’d thought that once they got Sam back, it would be okay, over, better, and in some ways it was. He was there now and no longer trapped inside his own body, but he was suffering and Charlie was so scared they were going to lose him.  

Her fear was also tempered by anger, fury even, at Dean. As far as she knew, he hadn’t been back in Sam’s room since Sam sent them away so he could sleep. She didn’t know what had happened, but when she and Castiel had come out of the kitchen with mugs of coffee for them all, he had been knocking back a whiskey in the library. Charlie had asked him what was wrong, but he hadn’t answered. He’d merely said she needed to keep an eye on Sam.

She’d thought maybe he just needed a break, a moment to savor the relief of having Sam back with them the way he tended to deal with most things—with alcohol—but it had been hours and he hadn’t come back. There was also the scent of sickness in the hall outside Sam’s room.

He hadn’t asked about Sam; he hadn’t checked on him at all. That was not the man she’d lived the last week with searching for Sam.  Then Sam’s fever had started to climb, so she’d sent Castiel to get him. Castiel hadn’t said what passed between them when he went, but the message was clear when he came back into the room—Dean wasn’t coming.

Sam jerked again and a tear slipped from his eye and ran down his cheek and onto the pillow.

“Are you okay, Sam?” Castiel asked, his frustration at his helplessness obvious in his voice.

Sam just groaned.

“Where does it hurt?” Charlie asked.   

“Doesn’t hurt,” Sam lied.

Castiel frowned.  “Then what is it?”

Another tear slipped from Sam. “I can hear him.”

“Hear who?”

Sam spoke in a rasping whisper. “Lucifer.” He groaned again and this time there was a word discernible in the sound. “Dean!”

“Okay, that’s it!” Charlie whispered furiously. “The hell with this. He doesn’t get to hide out and ignore this.” She jumped to her feet and tossed the cloth to Castiel. “Keep him as cool as you can.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I’m going to talk to Dean,” she said. “And if talking doesn’t work, I am kicking his ass in here whether he likes it or not.”

“That may not be a good idea, Charlie.”

“He doesn’t get to hide. Sam has been through God knows what with that angel. He’s going through hell now, too. Dean should be here with him, not drinking himself stupid.”

Castiel nodded slowly. “You’re right. Just… Be aware, he won’t be happy.”

She smiled grimly. “It’s Dean Winchester. He’s hardly ever happy.”

“Dean,” Sam murmured on the bed, his face turned into his pillow.

“He’ll be here soon,” Charlie promised.

Charlie stormed out of the room and through the bunker to the library where Dean was sitting at the long table with a decanter of whiskey in front of him and a glass with a generous measure in it in his hand. When he caught sight of her, he took a swig of his drink, grimaced and said, “Now’s not the time, Charlie.”

“Now’s exactly the time,” she snapped, throwing herself into a chair.  

He looked surprised at her anger. He lowered his glass slowly and gave her a searching look. Worry crossed his face and he asked, “Is Sam okay?”

“Absolutely not,” she replied. “He’s got a fever.”

Dean relaxed slightly. “Yeah, Cas said.

“And you didn’t think that maybe you should come check on him?”

“He’s better off without me,” he said in a dead voice.

Charlie glared at him. “You’re kidding right? Better off! We have spent the past week and more searching for a way to get him back. You did _everything_ including making a deal with the King of Hell, and now you think he’s better off without you?  What the hell happened to you?”

Dean heaved a deep sigh. “I spoke to Crowley.”

“Crowley! You spoke to that jerk-off and now you’re not going near Sam. What the hell did he say that made you do a complete spin on everything you’ve been working for?”

Dean raised bleary eyes to her and said, “He told me what that angel did to Sam. Where he was when he was stuffed down inside.”

“Okay,” Charlie said slowly. “And that makes a difference because…?”

“It was Hell. No, it was worse than that. It was the Cage. That dick stuffed Sam back in the Cage in his head.”

Charlie leaned back in her chair, her breath whooshing out of her. The Cage! That evil asshole had put him in the Cage. How could anyone be so cruel?

“I did that,” Dean said. “You heard what the angel said. He stuffed Sam away because of me. I treated him like a pet, demanding, acting like he was the lesser one, and so he did that. I screwed up so bad Sam was back in the Cage. And you want to know the kicker? Even in _there,_ with all they were doing to him, he was worried about me!” He laughed mirthlessly. “I have screwed that kid up so bad that even when he’s being tortured beyond what we can imagine, he worries about me. I’m staying away so I don’t screw him up anymore.”

Charlie closed her eyes a moment, trying to make sense of the emotions roiling though her. She was shocked, angry, sad, but also disappointed. “You’re wrong,” she said.

Dean looked at her blearily. “What?”

“He’s not a kid. Sam hasn’t been a kid in a long time. And you haven’t made him into anything but a good man and a better brother. He worried about you because he loves you. I _know_ you love him, too. You’re not staying away to protect him. You’re staying away because you’re scared to look at him and see your mistake. Sure, letting that angel in ended badly, but Sam’s alive because of it. The alternative was losing him altogether. None of us wanted that.”

“Sam did,” Dean said quietly.

Charlie bit her lip. “I don’t think he did. I think he was just afraid of what being saved would cost you and the world. I think he’d have—“ she cut off as she heard her name being bellowed from a distance by Castiel.

“Sam!” Dean gasped, and they both leapt to their feet.

Dean was faster. He raced ahead along the halls to the bedrooms, Charlie hot on his heels. He came to a dead stop in the door to Sam’s room, and Charlie squeezed past him and into the room, taking in the scene with an assessing eye and pushing down her panic.

Sam was convulsing on the bed, his feet hammering the mattress and his head jerking against the pillows. Castiel stood helplessly beside him. He turned to Charlie as she came in and said, “I don’t know what to do! He was talking nonsense, his fever was very high, but then he began to seize.”

“You’re already doing it,” Charlie said. “It must be the fever. We need to get it down.” She took a breath. “Okay. Go to the bathroom and fill the tub with tepid water.”

“Ice?” Dean asked.

“Too risky,” Charlie said. “We need to cool him carefully.”

Castiel rushed out of the room and Charlie heard his footsteps moving along the hall. She watched Sam carefully, waiting for the seizure to pass. After another minute it did, and she quickly moved to his side and checked his pulse; it was too fast and his skin far too hot.

“How is he?” Dean asked.

“He’ll be okay,” Charlie said reassuringly, hoping desperately she was telling the truth. “I’ll go take over for Cas. You two get him in the bathroom as carefully as you can.”

Dean nodded and came over to the bed. Charlie hesitated at the door, uncertain whether leaving Dean with him was a good idea, but then Dean ran a hand over Sam’s hot brow and said in a soft voice, “It’s okay, Sammy. I’m here. I’m going to take care of you.”

Charlie thought it was safe to leave them.


	13. Chapter 13

“I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean said. “You still look like Hell.”

Sam huffed an impatient breath and looked at Charlie instead. “What do you think, Doctor Bradbury?”

She smiled at him, a slight quirk of the lips that told him she was just as unsure about this as Dean. “Maybe a couple more days,” she said.

Sam groaned. It had been over a week, and, while admittedly he hadn’t cared much during the first days of being back as he’d been in and out of fevered unconsciousness and what he did remember was painful and frightening, he had been awake and resting in this room for five days now and he wanted out. When he was in there, it was still too easy to remember what had happened to him, both before and after Crowley had found him. At first Sam had thought Lucifer had been with him the way he had when the wall was broken, but when his fever broke, Lucifer disappeared again. He could still picture him though: standing in the corners talking the way he had, peering over Dean’s shoulder as he pressed cool cloths to his forehead, standing at the end of the tub as they immersed him in what felt shards of broken glass in water. He needed to see something other than the same four walls and breathe something other than the stale air of sickness in the room.

He understood their hesitance though. They were afraid for him. He remembered parts of his fever, and he knew how scared they’d been. Not one time had he come back to lucidity and found himself alone. There had always been at least one of them there, usually Dean and another, cooling him, talking to him, feeding him sips of water and washing his sweat soaked body. Words had penetrated the fog and they were always reassurances and pleas to hold out, fight a little harder, to stay. He had. He had made it through the worst of it, he was sure. Whatever had caused the fever to take hold had been beaten. There was just the rest of the whatever it was to heal now. He didn’t know what the trials had done to him. It felt like they had scorched his organs and branded his bones from the pain of it. Whatever it was, he needed time to recover, he knew, and he wasn’t planning on rushing that. He just thought he could rest outside of his room.

He locked eyes with Charlie and employed the look he used when wishing to get evidence from a reluctant witness. “Please, Charlie. I just want to be somewhere that isn’t this room for a while. I’m not planning on doing anything more strenuous than picking up a book. I’ll keep resting. Just let me stretch my legs a little.”

“Dammit,” Dean said quietly in response to Charlie’s softening expression.

“Okay,” she said. “I get that. But you sit where we put you and stay there. Understood?”

Sam nodded. “No problem.” He pushed up from the arms of the chair he was sitting on, hating the way his hands trembled with the effort. When he was upright, Dean got an arm under him and Sam straightened, feeling the satisfaction of standing at his fullest.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Let’s go.”

They made slow progress through the bunker and into the library, and Sam’s legs were aching by the end of the short journey. He tried to make for the long table in the center of the room, but with a huff of a laugh, Dean led him to the wing chair by one of the bookcases.

Sam sank gratefully into it and tucked his hands down at his sides so Dean wouldn’t see how they were shaking from weariness.    

“You need a blanket?” Dean asked.

Sam raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“So that’s a no,” Dean muttered. “Anything else?”

“Some coffee?” Sam asked hopefully.

Dean glanced at Charlie and she nodded. “Sure. I think Cas is working the machine right now. He’s really proud of himself for learning how to do it.” She smiled fondly. “I’ll go get you some.”

Sam smiled his gratitude and looked around the large room, taking it in with relief. He hadn’t thought he would see it again, and when he’d been in the Cage—or his mind’s version of it—he’d begun to doubt sometimes it existed at the archangels’ constant insistence it had been a creation of their own.   

“Anything else you need?” Dean asked.

“No,” Sam said with a heavy exhale. “Well, maybe…” There was something else he needed, but he wasn’t sure it was the right time for it. Things had been hard on Dean lately, and he didn’t want to make it worse, but at the same time he needed some answers. He didn’t know much of what had happened to him after he’d been possessed by the witch, but Crowley had said there was an angel in him. How the angel had gotten consent, or even access to the bunker, he didn’t know, but he knew it was a story he should hear. He guessed Dean would be dragging his own load of guilt for it though—the angel getting in on his watch.

“What?” Dean asked.

He looked so willing to help that Sam felt like an asshole for making his smile fade as he asked, “What happened to me, Dean?”

Dean leaned back as if to distance himself from the question, and then, after a beat of silence in which Sam almost retracted the question, he nodded once and pulled a chair around from the table to sit facing Sam. “It’s a long story, Sammy,” he said.  

Sam felt a curl of foreboding in his gut. Dean felt more than guilt about this, he could tell. He felt it was more important now than ever to hear the story though. He stayed silent and waited for Dean to go on.

“You remember when I stopped you finishing the last trial?”

“Yeah,” Sam said slowly. It wasn’t like he could forget the desperation, exhaustion and absolute defeat of those last few minutes of the third trial. He remembered the way the blood had felt, hot and wet on his palm as he clenched his fist to make it flow, ready to take the final step to cure Crowley. And then Dean’s arrival. _“You finish this trial, you’re dead, Sam.”_ The way it had felt so right; of course he was dead. It made perfect sense for this to be the ultimate sacrifice. And in that moment he hadn’t even cared. He was done. Caring had come later.

_Bobby walking beside him in a forest, “I want to fight. I do. But I just feel like...”_

_“Like you got nothing to swing at?”_

He flinched.

“Sam?” Dean was in his face, his hand on Sam’s forehead and his eyes concerned.

“I’m fine,” Sam said, his voice sounding echoey in his ears.

What was that? A hallucination? A fever dream? A memory?

“Are you hurting?” Dean asked.

“I’m not,” Sam said, then amended, “No more than before. I just saw something.”

“Saw what?”

“Bobby.”

Dean pulled back and frowned at him. “Here? Like, in this room?”

“No, it was more like a memory of something, but I don’t remember it ever happening before. Maybe just a dream.”

“Maybe we should get you back to bed.”

“No,” Sam said. “I need to hear this.”

Dean nodded slowly. “Okay. Well, you remember the church. After the angels started falling, you got real sick real fast. I took you to a hospital. Things got worse and they…” Dean was pale and his hand trembled slightly as he wiped it over his face. “They told me you were dying.”

_Death seated in a high-backed wing chair, his expression solemn. “I consider it to be quite the honor to be collecting the likes of Sam Winchester.”_

This time Sam managed to conceal his reaction.

Not a dream, he was sure now, a memory. He remembered how it had felt to sit in that cabin with the Horseman and discuss it all so civilly. He remembered what he said next.

_“Can you promise that this time it will be final? That if I'm dead, I stay dead. Nobody can reverse it, nobody can deal it away... and nobody else can get hurt because of me.”_

He had been sure in that moment that it was right to go. Bobby had been right, not Dean. He had to let go of fighting at last, no more loopholes. What he was doing was leaving a legacy. Dean couldn’t accept that because he loved him, but that didn’t make it wrong.

“I prayed,” Dean said. “I sent out an all angels’ broadcast and someone answered. He said he was called Ezekiel, but he was lying. We don’t know who he was really. He was going to heal you, but you were both too weak, so… I made a judgment call. He said he could heal you from within, so I said yes.”

But that wouldn’t have been enough. The angel wouldn’t have needed Dean’s permission; he would have needed Sam’s. And he had gotten it, Sam knew, remembering once again, the impassioned speech and the telling words. _“You got to let me in, man.”_ … _“Is that a yes?”_

He swallowed hard and pushed his shaking and now fisted hands a little deeper into the sides of the chair. Dean had tricked him. He had used their bond and love to make Sam open himself to another angel. How could he? After what Lucifer had done to him, both when he had possessed him and after, how could he have let another angel take Sam’s will?

“You tricked me into letting the angel in,” he said in a dull tone.

Dean stared at him, a plea for understanding in his eyes. “You remember?”

“Bits of it,” Sam said. “The parts that matter.”

“Sam, I…” Dean trailed off as the sound of Charlie’s chatter and Castiel’s deep replies came to them. A moment later they were in the library, a tray of cups and saucers in Charlie’s hands and an old fashioned coffee pot in Castiel’s.

“Found all this in a cupboard,” Charlie said cheerfully. “Thought we could pretend not to be heathens for an afternoon. What do you think?”

Sam forced a smile. “I think that’s a great idea, but I think I should get back to bed again.”

Charlie set the tray down on the table and hurried over to him. She felt his brow and frowned. “You’re kinda warm. Are you in a lot of pain?”

“No,” Sam said quickly, not wanting to worry her unduly. “I just need to lay down a little while. Cas, you mind helping me?”

“Of course,” Castiel said as he came to Sam’s side.

“I can help you,” Dean offered.

“No,” Sam said without heat. “You’ve done enough.”

Castiel helped Sam to his feet and, with Sam’s arm slung around Castiel’s shoulders, they made their slow way to the bedrooms.

xXx

The pot of coffee Charlie and Castiel had prepared went untouched. Dean had no stomach for it, and Charlie and Castiel seemed to sense that he needed space, so they excused themselves, saying they were going to explore the bunker some more.

Dean stayed in the library, staring at the chair his brother had vacated and wondering how he could have handled the situation differently, in a way that wouldn’t have ended with him sitting alone and his sick brother back in the bed he had been so eager to escape.

He couldn’t think of any other way to handle it though, as he had barely needed to say a thing. Sam already seemed to know it all. Where Bobby had come into it, Dean didn’t know, but the fact was he knew Dean had tricked him into letting the angel in and that was what had snowballed into this nightmare. But it had saved Sam’s life. It _wasn’t_ his time. There was still so much for him to offer the world. He couldn’t go down like that, still too young. Dean had done what needed to be done; he had done what _Sam_ had needed him to do.

His self-assurances only lasted so long when he thought of where Sam had ended up—the Cage—because of him doing what he had. He couldn’t have known the angel was going to pull that stunt, but maybe if he hadn’t been such a dick to him, it wouldn’t have happened. That was what he had said anyway.

An hour passed and he was staring longingly at the crystal decanter that held the alcoholic answer to his problems when he heard someone approaching. It obviously wasn’t Sam, so he didn’t look around.

“Planning another drinking party?” Charlie asked.

“No,” Dean said truculently. 

Charlie threw herself into the chair that had been Sam’s and curled her one foot under her. “Then what are you doing?”

Dean ignored his question and asked one of his own. “How’s Sam doing?”

“He’s okay. Tired and in pain, but his temperature is down, actually almost normal, so I’m calling it a win. It’d be a lot easier to take care of him if we knew exactly what was going on inside, though, and if I was, you know, an actual doctor.”

“You’re doing a great job,” Dean said. “You and Cas have been awesome with him.”

“And you’ve been chopped liver, I suppose.”

“If only,” Dean said.

Charlie sighed harshly and pushed back her hair. “Okay, Winchester, I am going to say this once only and I want you to listen.” She leaned forward and punched his arm. He could tell it was her hardest, but having spent a lifetime being kicked around by monsters and demons, it wasn’t exactly right up there in the pain stakes. “Suck it up. You are the best ever brother! You did what you had to do to save Sam. You know how few people could have done that? I know it ended badly, but I for one am a million times happier with Sam in the world than I would be without. You, Sam and Castiel, you’re pretty much it for me when it comes to family. I love you guys, and I don’t want to lose any of you. I was so scared when Sam was lost, and now that he’s back, I am just soaking up the good times. You should do the same.”

“He’s so angry at me,” Dean said, cursing the hoarse quality to his voice.

She quirked a brow. “He say that did he?”

“He didn’t need to. I can tell.”

She rolled her eyes. “You may be soul mates, but you’re not mind readers. How about you give Sam a chance to tell you how he feels?”

“Like he’s going to give me a chance to do that,” Dean scoffed.

“Oh, didn’t I mention? He asked if you were free to talk.”

Dean got quickly to his feet. “You didn’t tell me because…?”

“I thought you needed a little pep talk first. Besides, I’ve been practicing it and it would be a shame to let it go to waste. Yeah, Cas is sitting with him now, but he wanted to see you.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” Dean said, striding from the room.

“Go get ‘em tiger,” she called after him.

Dean hurried through the halls to the bedrooms area of the bunker and then paused outside the door to Sam’s room for a moment to take a breath and prepare himself. He heard movement inside and Sam’s tired voice say, “Thanks, Cas,” just before the angel appeared.

Castiel smiled slightly at Dean and patted his arm in what Dean guessed was Castiel’s awkward attempt at a show of solidarity.

Dean took a moment and then knocked on the door frame. “Can I come in?” Neither of them had needed permission before. If they wanted time alone, they shut the door. Having it open was an invitation.

“Sure,” Sam said.

He was sitting up in bed, propped against pillows. He looked pale and tired, but he smiled slightly at Dean, making him think maybe it wasn’t all lost.

Dean made for the chair beside the bed and pulled it around so he was facing Sam.

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time and then laughed softly.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Dean started, but Sam interrupted.

“Let me go first. I need to say it.”

Dean nodded and sat back in his seat.

“I shouldn’t have walked out on you earlier. I should have stayed to talk it out then. It wasn’t fair to leave you to sit on it for hours.”

“It’s okay,” Dean said.

“The thing is, I needed to think,” Sam said. “It was a lot to take in, is all.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Dean said soberly.

Sam smiled. “I guess what I want to say is that I get it. I understand why you made the choices you did. I’m not saying I like it; I hate that there was another angel in me, and what it did to me. But if I was in your position… Well, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the exact same thing to save you.”

Dean blew out a gusty breath and his frozen muscles relaxed. It was better than he could have hoped for.  

“I didn’t _want_ to die,” Sam said. “When I was there, with Death, I thought it was the only real option for me. I remember after though, when I was possessed and feeling better, and I was happy with my life. I had you, I had my friends, and life was good. That’s something I wouldn’t have had a chance to feel had I gone with him when he wanted me to. So, thank you.”

“But what about how it ended?” Dean asked.

Sam bit his lip. “I don’t know how it happened, what that angel did, but I ended up in a real bad place when he took over…”

“The Cage,” Dean said. “Crowley told me.”

“Of course he did,” Sam spat, spots of color flushing his cheeks. “Asshole.” He took a breath and then relaxed again. “Well, what he did, why ever he did it, I am not letting him get away with it.”

“It was my fault,” Dean started. “He was pissed at me because—”

Sam held up a shaky hand. “I don’t need to hear it. I don’t care what his excuse was. What he did was one of the worst things anyone has ever done to me, and I am not letting it go.”

Dean frowned. “What are you going to do?”

“I am going to get better first,” he said, “and then I am going to find him. I will track him down and then I will kill him.”

Dean looked uncertain. “Sammy, I get it, I do. I feel the same way. But he’s an angel that could be hiding in any vessel in any state, if he hasn’t already left the country. How are we going to find him?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “I just know we will.”

“You think we can really do it?”

Sam smiled weakly, his voice strong despite his obvious exhaustion. “Of course we can. Lucifer, Azazel, Lilith, Eve, Dick Roman, none of them were a match for us. He might be an angel, but we’re Winchesters. I like our odds.”

Dean grinned. “I’m in. You’re right. One angel doesn’t stand a chance.”

Sam nodded and said solemnly, “He really doesn’t.”


	14. Chapter 14

Castiel woke suddenly, the horrified cries of his dream still echoing in his ears. He swiped a hand over his brow to clear the sheen of sweat and sat up, trying to calm himself quickly in case someone came to check on him.

The bunker was extraordinarily comfortable compared to some of the places he’d slept as a human, but the inconvenience of the proximity of the other bedrooms posed a problem. He was sure he cried out sometimes in his sleep, and he was fearful of being heard. It had happened at least once; he had woken to find Dean beside his bed with his hand on his shoulder, expression concerned. Dean had tried to talk to him about it in his stilted way, but Castiel had refused and Dean had accepted that.

He wasn’t the only one who had nightmares, he knew. He had woken to shouts before and raced to Sam’s bedroom only to find Dean already there, shaking him awake and talking to him in calm tones, reassuring him. He understood Sam’s nightmares, as there were horrors in his life to taunt him, such as his experiences in the Cage. Castiel had some inkling of what he might see as he had been there, too, when he had rescued what he had believed was Sam’s whole self but was ultimately just his body. He had seen what the archangels had done to him. Sam would want to talk to Castiel about his dreams if he knew about them, he was sure, but how did you compare torture at the hands of the devil to dreams of a small cut on the throat and something so small being taken from you? Not that it felt small to Castiel. His grace had once seemed like everything. But comparatively, it was stupid. He was alive at least; no one was hurting him in his dreams. He was just losing who he had once been.

He swung his legs around to the edge of the bed and stood, relieved to find he was steady. The dream had already lost its hold on him. He grabbed some clean clothes and padded barefoot through the halls to the bathroom. Setting his clothes down on the counter, he took his wash-bag from the shelf where they were all lined up neatly, and smiled to himself. With their belongings gathered like this, it felt like a real home. Though it belonged to Sam and Dean, it was their legacy, they shared it with them all, giving their ragtag family somewhere to belong and come home to.

He relieved himself then washed his hands and brushed his teeth methodically. Running a hand over the scruff on his jaw he realized it was time to shave again. These human needs and customs still seemed unending to him. Dean had made one a little easier for him though. Soon after Sam had begun to heal, Dean had taken a trip into town and come back with a gift for Castiel—an electric shaver. He said it was the easiest method and had the added benefit of being able to be used on the road more conveniently than a wet shave. The simple thought behind the gift had made Castiel disproportionately happy. It was the assumption that he would be on the road with them in future. Dean was grouping him in their plans. He would have a use after all.

He flipped the razor on and rolled it over his face in smooth movements, checking his reflection as he did. When he was satisfied, he put the razor back into its case and washed his face.

He changed out of his t-shirt and sweatpants and into clean clothes that Dean had also brought back from his shopping trip. Dumping his dirty clothes in the laundry sack to wash later, he went back to his bedroom for shoes before wandering through the bunker into the kitchen.

Dean was sitting at the table, a mug of coffee cradled in his hands. Charlie and Kevin were working at the stove, scrambling eggs and frying bacon while having a heated discussion about someone named Aziz that he had never heard of before.

Kevin had returned to the bunker three weeks previously, retrieved by Dean from the motel he had been staying at to work on the tablet in private. He had initially been upset that he had been left alone so long without word and all of his calls unanswered, but when Charlie and Castiel had explained the circumstances of the Winchesters’ lapse in communication, he had understood.

Within an hour of his arrival, Charlie had declared him, ‘The world’s best prophet’ and adopted him as her new ‘BFF’. What a BFF was, Castiel wasn’t sure, but he understood the rest. Kevin was the world’s only prophet so he was the best, and worst, and everything in the middle. Their relationship had been bonded over the weeks with much television, conversation and a video game called Skyrim.

Castiel only ever understood half of what they were saying to each other at any given time, but he liked that they had one another to lean on. Life with the Winchesters sometimes left you on the periphery, though much less for Castiel since his return to the bunker.  

“Morning, Cas,” Dean said, drawing the others’ attention to him. They both turned and greeted him, Charlie waving a spatula and Kevin by name.

Castiel’s relationship with Kevin was not as good as his one with Charlie. The first time he had met the prophet had in been his troubled—some might say crazy—time following his absorption of Sam’s hell. The next time he had pinned him to a wall and lectured him on the duty of a prophet. It was not the best basis for friendship. Not that Kevin seemed to resent him. It was more that he was guarded, uncertain of Castiel’s intentions. He wished he knew the words to apologize and sound sincere.

 “Where is Sam?” Castiel asked.

“Sleeping still,” Dean said. “He seems to need a lot.”

“He’s healing still,” Charlie said knowledgeably. “He’s already loads better, but he’s not fully functioning yet.”

Castiel wished he could sense Sam’s health the way he had been able to as an angel. The damage wrought on him by the first two trials was catastrophic, changing him on a subatomic level. It would have helped him to know just how far from healed he really was now. He seemed much better. He didn’t need assistance to walk now; he could make his way around the bunker easily under his own steam even if it was a little slower than before. He said his pain was less, and his fever was completely gone, but the fact there was still pain at all was a failure to Castiel’s mind. There was once a time when he could have eased that hurt for his friend.

Charlie slid the bacon onto a platter and Kevin scooped the eggs into a bowl. They carried it over to the table and Charlie asked, “Are we saving Sam some or are you waking him?”

“I’ll wake him,” Dean said.

“Good,” Kevin said. “I put a lot of work into those eggs and they’ll go rubbery if they sit too long.”

“Sure, princess,” Dean said, a grin curling his lips. “I’m sure all the beating and stirring really took it out of you. I’ll get Sam.”

“No need,” a sleepy voice said from the hall. Sam shuffled into the room, barefoot and still dressed in his sleep clothes.

“Is it dress down Friday?” Dean asked.

Sam waved a hand at him. “I smelled bacon.”

“Ah, the lure of the pig,” Charlie said, scooping bacon onto her plate.

Kevin raised an eyebrow. “That’s gross, Charlie.”

Charlie laughed. “I’m sorry. Did I burst your bubble? Bacon comes from pigs, Kev. And you’ll never guess where chicken comes from!”

Sam snickered and began to scoop food onto his plate.  

They ate in companionable quiet for a while, the only sounds the scraping of knives and forks on plates.

When he had eaten his fill, Dean pushed away his plate and sipped his coffee. “What’s everyone up to today?”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Tablet, of course.”

Dean nodded. “Charlie?”

She nodded at Sam. “I’ve got a hot date with the library again.” 

“You enjoy that,” Dean said vaguely, glancing at Sam.

“I’m with Charlie,” he said. “There’s got to be something in the library that can help us.”

 Castiel knew he was referring to his mission to find and kill ‘Ezekiel’. He was devoted to the idea, and though Castiel feared for him and had told him so, Sam was immovable. What the angel had done to him was terrible, but even at full strength, Sam would not be a formidable match against an angel. Castiel was scared he was going to get back to full strength only to be smote by the rogue angel.

“What about you, Cas?” Dean asked, breaking into his troubled thoughts.

“I think I will venture into town for groceries,” he replied. “I know we are short on some supplies.”

“Awesome,” Dean said. “There’s a list of what we need on the fridge. If you guys think of anything else, add it. Oh, Cas, see if they have any—“

“Pie,” Castiel finished for him. “Of course.”

xXx

Castiel liked going into town. He missed parts of his life as Steve—though the parts he had gained in return far outweighed his losses—and being around other people was one of those things. He hadn’t made many friends at the Gas-N-Sip other than Nora—and she’d tried to maintain a professional relationship with him as her subordinate in the Gas-N-Sip hierarchy—and Bill who had delivered the papers daily. He had enjoyed what Nora called ‘people watching’ though. He liked to imagine what their lives were and what people were a part of them. Being in town among others enabled him to do it.

He drove his borrowed car—he was sure he would return it one day—into Lebanon and pulled to a stop in a parking spot outside the grocery store. With a practiced glance around him, checking for anything out of the ordinary, though he didn’t expect to find it in this small town, he made his way inside.

He had the list in his hand, with Dean’s scrawled items, Charlie’s feminine script, and Kevin’s neat hand on it, and he took a cart and made his way along the aisles. Taking what was required from the shelves and stacks, he smiled as he read Dean’s first item: _Salad and crap for Sam._ Though he knew Dean had been trying to persuade Sam to bulk on calories since his illness and possession to regain some of the weight he had lost, he was still taking Sam’s preferences into account.

He scanned the items on offer and gathered a selection of healthy alternatives to Dean’s personal choices.

He was wandering the beverages aisle, trying to find the usual coffee Sam and Dean stocked, when he felt someone bump into him from behind. He turned, an apology on his lips though he knew it was no fault of his own, and froze.

The woman behind him was dressed in a two-piece black pantsuit and white blouse. Her unusual grey eyes were narrowed and when she spoke it was not English but Enochian. “You!”

“Sister, please,” Castiel said, unsure what he was pleading for, but desperate nonetheless.

“You call me sister?” she asked incredulously. “How dare you?”

At the cuff of her right sleeve the tip of a silver blade appeared. Castiel swallowed hard. “Please.”

“You will come with me, Castiel, or I will end every life in this building. Would you like more deaths on your conscience?” 

Castiel released his ironclad grip on the handle of the cart and nodded. “I’ll come. Please don’t hurt anyone.”

She gestured for him to go ahead of her and he walked on shaky legs toward the exit, feeling her at his back. They drew curious looks from the clerk and other customers as they walked past the register, but they didn’t speak, seeming to know instinctually that to do so would be to put themselves at risk.

When they got outside, the sun seemed to blind Castiel. The sky was incredibly blue, and yet the air cooled on his face. He thought it strange that he noticed these things at the moment of his death, unaware of the effects of adrenaline on a human body.

He wished he had someone with him, someone who could tell Sam and Dean what had happened to him to save them an endless and fruitless search, but perhaps that was better. Anyone with him would be at risk, too.

“Over here,” she said, prodding him toward a black SUV. Confused and thinking perhaps his death wasn’t going to be the quick affair he had hoped for, Castiel walked towards it. He hesitated at the side, unsure whether he was supposed to get in or wait for something, but the angel behind acted before he could ask. He felt a sharp blow on the back of his head, blinding pain, and then nothing as he slipped into darkness.

xXx

When he started to wake, he heard voices around him. He knew enough from Dean and Sam’s instruction to not stir but to listen carefully, keeping his breaths steady and even and his eyes closed.

“Where on earth did you find him?” a voice asked.

“In a grocery store,” the female replied. “He was walking the aisles pushing his cart like a _human_.” She said the word derisively.

“He is a human now,” the male voice replied.

“He is pathetic,” she said. “The Great Castiel, once a leader and formidable angel, reduced to grubbing on the ground like one of them.”

“Yes. He is also awake, aren’t you, Castiel.”

Knowing there was no point pretending anymore, Castiel opened his eyes. He was lying on a thickly carpeted floor with his hands bound uncomfortably behind him. He knew there was no need to bind him. They had done it to humiliate him, to show that he _could_ be held like this; there was no need of holy fire for him anymore.

Castiel didn’t recognize the angel in front of him, as he had never seen him in a vessel before. He had no idea what their history might be and how it would impact the outcome of his capture—whether the angel had retribution in mind for one of Castiel’s many crimes or if he would allow him a swift death.

“It is good to see you again, Castiel,” he said mildly.

“I am sorry, I do not recognize you,” Castiel said.

The angel’s mouth curved into a mirthless smile. “Why would you? We only fought in battle side by side once in the battle of Dereisa. You fought many times with many angels. I took a blade for you, but I am sure many angels have done that over your lifetime.”

“Mikhail,” Castiel said. “I am sorry. I remember you, of course. You saved me.”

“My mistake,” Mikhail said.

Castiel tried to shift himself so that he was sitting, a slightly more dignified position than lying prostrate on the floor.

“Help him up, Bethiah,” Mikhail said.

The woman stared incredulously at him for a moment before obeying, confirming to Castiel that Mikhail was the superior there. Castiel was hauled painfully to his feet and he wavered for a moment before regaining his equilibrium.

“Now, Castiel, what were you doing in Kansas?” Mikhail asked.

“I was traveling through,” Castiel said, knowing that whatever they did to him, he would not betray Sam and Dean’s location. “I have been living on the road since my… fall.”

Mikhail nodded as if he had expected the answer. “And Bethiah came across you in a grocery store. What are the chances of that?”

That was a good question. What was she even doing in a grocery store? He didn’t dare ask the question, but Mikhail answered it anyway.

“We have been tracking the Boyle podcasts viewers, and there was one in Lebanon. Bethiah was searching for the person to see if they were ready to give consent to a brother or sister.”

“There are _still_ some without vessels?” Castiel asked.

Mikhail scoffed. “Of course. You and Metatron emptied Heaven of _every_ angel, and there are only so many vessels suitable for possession. There are even less that are devout enough to give themselves over. It’s not like the old days when religion was as much a part of life as food and sleep for the humans. So many have lost the path.”

“I did not empty Heaven,” Castiel said.

Mikhail looked amused. “And yet… you were known to be working with him. You were last seen with him in Heaven, and now you are human. Was that the bargain, Castiel? You became a human so you could live out a human lifespan with those Winchesters you are so fond of? It seems ridiculous to me, but then you always were a very strange angel.”

“No,” Castiel said. “I was taken prisoner by Metatron. He _stole_ my grace to complete a spell. That is how the angels were expelled. He took more from me than from you all.” The words slipped from him without thought, but he supposed it was right. If he was to die here, it was to be on his terms as much as it could be. With them knowing the truth.

“More from you? He burned our wings away, Castiel. The parts that make us what we are. We were stricken to earth, left helpless and without vessels. We were less equipped to deal with it than humans would have been.”

“I am sorry,” Castiel said. “It was never my intent to make that happen. I thought I was doing the right thing when I helped him.”

“And what, pray tell, were you helping him with if not our fall?” Bethiah asked.

Castiel didn’t answer. He thought the fact that he had been trying to lock all angels _in_ Heaven rather than casting them out would be no more welcome than what they already believed.

“I don’t know,” he lied. “Metatron said he had a plan to return angels to their former glory and unification.” Not a complete lie, but not the truth either.

Mikhail stared at him, seeming to be searching for something. Castiel stared back at him, wondering how long he had left to live in a disconnected way, as if in his heart he had already made peace with his fate. Perhaps he had done so a long time ago, the moment he woke on earth as a human

At that moment the door opened and a man strode into the room. He was obviously superior to both angels as they ducked their heads at his entrance and stepped away from Castiel.  

“Castiel,” he said, spreading his arms in what seemed to be welcome. “It’s good to see you again.”

Castiel looked at him and realized that, through the new haircut and modern clothes, he recognized the angel in the vessel he had once known. “Bartholomew.”

“You do recognize me,” he said gleefully. “I wondered with the modernization of the vessel if you would.” He held out a hand for Castiel and then laughed. “Of course, you cannot shake my hand with yours tied behind your back.” His blade slid into his hand and Castiel flinched as he grabbed his shoulder and spun him. Castiel wondered if this was how it would happen: a stab in the back, what had once been called a coward’s death, stricken as they ran away. He didn’t strike though. He cut through the bonds holding Castiel, freeing his hands. He spun him back with ease and then took Castiel’s right hand and pumped it up and down.  

Castiel’s surprise must have shown on his face, as Bartholomew laughed softly. “No need to look so afraid, Castiel. We’re not going to hurt you.”

Castiel didn’t believe him, but he didn’t speak up.

“I think our guest would be a little more comfortable with some space,” Bartholomew said. “Bethiah, Mikhail, you can leave us.”

The two angels nodded and left the room without a word.

“They’re obedient to you,” Castiel observed.

“Of course they are. I am their leader. You remember how it felt to be a leader, don’t you, Castiel?”

Castiel nodded. It had been empowering, heady, sometimes frightening, and always stressful.

“Take a seat,” Bartholomew said. “I imagine you are tired. I understand humans tire easily. And your head must be hurting. Would you like me to heal you?”

“It’s nothing,” Castiel said.

He glanced around the room. There was a large light wood desk and a comfortable looking office chair behind, with two less comfortable looking seats in front of it. He perched on one of those and rested his hands in his lap. Bartholomew sat opposite him, smoothing the creases of his pants.

“We need to talk,” Bartholomew said. “I have a proposition for you, and I would like you to give it some serious thought before making up your mind to agree.”

“You seem sure I will,” Castiel said.

“I am,” he replied. “This is what the humans call an offer too good to miss.” He looked at Castiel with sympathy that Castiel wasn’t entirely sure was genuine. “I heard some of your conversation with Mikhail and Bethiah, and I understand you were not as we believed a part of Metatron’s plan to expel the angels.”

“Not intentionally,” Castiel said.

“I cannot tell you how much it pleases me to hear it. I didn’t want to think you would stray so far from what is right. Now, that understood, I want to make my offer. You were a great angel, Castiel, as you know. You once led me, and I have tried to model myself on you since taking up the mantle.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Castiel said. “It did not end well for me.”

“Perhaps not in the end, but before you failed, you succeeded.” He drew a breath. “I would like you to join us, Castiel. Be my second. We are going to war against Metatron, and I think, of all angels, you owe him retribution the most.”

“I am human,” Castiel stated. “I can advise you, perhaps, but that is all. I am not the angel I was before.”

Bartholomew smiled. “That is where my offer sweetens. I have something you need.” From his pocket he pulled a small vial of blue-white swirling light. Castiel knew at once that it was grace.

“Is that mine?” he asked. “I thought Metatron used it all for the spell.”

Bartholomew shook his head. “He may have. I don’t know. This is not yours. This is Malachi’s. I defeated him a week ago, absorbing the survivors of his army into my own. I want you to take this grace and become what you were again. Be an angel, Castiel.”

Castiel leaned away from him and the vial of grace, disgusted. Malachi was one of the worst of all angels. Cruel, sadistic, violent. He and Thaddeus had presided over Heaven’s jail, and their talents had been utilized to punish the angels held within. The thought of taking something of _that_ angel into himself was abhorrent.

“Oh,” Bartholomew said. “You’re not eager.”

“No,” Castiel said, his tone hard. “I cannot take that.”

“You disappoint me. I thought you would jump at the chance to be one of us again. One of mine. This pains me, Castiel. I didn’t want it to end this way.”

Castiel flinched. “That is my choice then: take the grace and join you or death?”

Bartholomew looked surprised. “Of course not. What kind of animal do you take me for?”

“You are a leader. Sometimes difficult choices and sacrifices must be made.”

“As when you destroyed Raphael’s followers?” Bartholomew said. “As you said, _you_ made mistakes. I will not make the same. I am offering you a choice. Become what you were. Join our just cause. Make right what you did, or stay as you are, a human living a nomadic and unfulfilling life.”

Castiel chose his words carefully. “I think I have made too many mistakes as an angel. I cannot hurt angels anymore as a human. It would be better for you all if I was to refuse.”

Bartholomew tapped his chin. “Perhaps you are right. Yes. For now, you are perhaps better as a human.” He tucked the grace back into his pocket and stood. “In that case, our business is concluded.

Surprised by the abrupt dismissal and awestruck that he was apparently going to make it out of this alive, he stood. “I can go?” he asked.

“Yes. Would you like someone to drive you back to Lebanon?”

“No,” Castiel answered quickly, then amended. “Thank you, but no. I am living, as you say, a nomadic life now. I can find another car and move on from here as easily as anywhere.”

“Very well.” Bartholomew shook his hand again, a little too firmly this time. “I will see you again, Castiel.”

“Perhaps,” Castiel said.

“No,” he said seriously. “I will.”

Castiel heard the underlying warning in the words, and he nodded.

He turned from Bartholomew, still wary of an attack, and made his way out of the room. He came to a plush reception hall with a polished marble desk behind which a young woman with blonde hair sat. Ignoring her, he made straight for the exit, stepping out into the open air and taking a deep breath. Hurrying down the street, he took three random turns before taking his cell phone from his pocket and hitting the first speed dial.

Dean answered on the first ring. “Cas? Where the hell are you? Are you okay?”

“I am fine,” he said. “I have much to tell you, but it will have to wait until I am back.”

“Okay,” Dean said, relief obvious. “Yeah. You get your ass home and we’ll talk.”

Castiel smiled. Home. He liked that. He was going home.


	15. Chapter 15

Charlie loved her life.

She had always made friends easily, but they were surface friends who were good for drinks and Moondoor battles, but that was about it. She couldn’t have told them the real facts of her life: the loves, the losses and the fight that it had been at times just to make it through the days. She had been Cheery Charlie, always good for a laugh, a partner for Comic Con queues, and computer genius, but no one had known who she really was since she was twelve.

But that had all changed.

If a fairy godmother had come down and asked what she wanted in a friend, she would have told her she wanted someone who really understood her. If she’d been pushed, she would have asked that they also understood the references she made—the ones that made Sam and Dean look at her blankly—and maybe even understood what she’d lost and what it felt like to be a part of the real world of monsters and demons that few others knew about.

Her fairy godmother must have been a mind reader, as she got all that and more in Kevin. He was awesome. He _got_ it. He had lost, he had survived, and he understood how it felt to get your arm broken by a Leviathan when you’d been roped into a fight you didn’t want to be a part of as he’d once lost a finger to the King of Hell. Not only that, but they also liked a lot of the same things, like Playstation and tabletop games. They shared appreciation for Aziz Ansari and agreed he was seriously undervalued as an actor.  She could not wait to get him to a Moondoor weekend. He was going to rock the armor, unless he was seduced by those damn elves of course. Sure, the elven girls were pretty, but what did they really have to offer the world?

He understood the real world, too. He was just as overwhelmed by everything that had happened in it—the things that normal people were unaware of. He wasn’t down for hunting like she was, but that was probably because he was busy carrying the prophet load. She was sure he would be otherwise. Charlie was filling him in on the history of the Winchesters as told by Carver Edlund when she could get time with him without Sam and Dean listening, as you just had to mention the Supernatural books for Dean to start cursing and Sam to get that pinched face that made it look like he was getting a headache. He knew the important parts now, though; he knew they had saved the world. And she thought that helped him as it seemed to them that the world needed saving again from that Metatron asshole and Abaddon bitch.

She had Sam and Dean, too. She’d not been a lonely child, but what little girl didn’t wish for a big brother to protect her from the jerks of the world sometimes? She had two now! And they would really do anything for her. They would do anything for any one of their little family, and that was what they were, as proven when Castiel went missing two weeks ago.

He’d gone into town for groceries, a simple enough task, one he’d successfully done before, but when an hour passed and he didn’t return, they’d all been confused. Confusion had morphed into worry when Sam’s and Dean’s calls went unanswered. Sam, who had been lagging a little still while he was healing, seemed to surge with energy and vigor as the adrenaline hit. He and Dean had driven into town to check the store, leaving Charlie and Kevin at the bunker in case he came back.

Worry had skipped right into panic when they returned with the news that Castiel had been apparently frog-marched out of the store by a woman dressed like a corporate secretary. The description had clued them in that it had been an angel.

When Charlie had asked what an angel would want with Castiel, Dean’s answer had chilled her: _“Nothing good.”_ It transpired that Castiel was on the run from pretty much every angel in existence since they had fallen. He was evidently a part of the reason the fall had happened in the first place. Sure, Charlie had read about badass Castiel in the books, but he’d seemed pretty mellow and awesome to her. Surely not a part of a plot to empty Heaven.

Dean and Charlie had set themselves up with laptops and gotten to work hacking road cameras for a sign of the SUV the clerk had seen the woman and Cas climbing into. They tracked it as far as the Oklahoma state line, but there they’d lost it. Things had been tough after that. Dean had side-eyed the liquor and Sam had sagged, his energy leaving him. Things hadn’t gotten better until Castiel had called, having found freedom on his own.

When he had gotten back to the bunker, the heartfelt greetings from Sam and Dean’s tempered anger and relief had shown Charlie that, just because the Winchesters were diametrically opposed to saying the L-word, they did truly care about Castiel.

So, yeah, Charlie had her family, and she loved her life. She just wished they could crack the angel problem already. She had spent so long in that library, trawling though books for something to help, and she couldn’t help but fear it was pointless. If Castiel, who had actually been an angel, didn’t know of a way to help find ‘Ezekiel’, how were the Men of Letters supposed to?

Sam slammed a book closed, making Charlie start. “Nothing,” he said bitterly.

Charlie sighed. “It was unlikely you were going to find anything in…” She peered at the spine of his book. “Oh… An Encyclopedia of Enochian Rituals.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “This is the most hopeful looking book I’ve found in weeks, and there’s just nothing.”

Charlie sighed. “Do you _really_ need to kill him, Sam? Can’t we just be satisfied that he’s out of you, you’re back, and he’s probably floating around without a vessel like all the other angels Castiel told us about?”

Sam’s expression became stony. “Yes. I need to kill him.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Death to the angel. But I vote we take a break.”

Sam nodded vaguely, already getting out of his seat and making for the bookshelves again.

Charlie sighed and stood. “I’ll be right back.”

Sam didn’t even seem to hear her.

She marked the page of her book and then wandered out of the library to the kitchen where she found Dean and Castiel talking. Dean was leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest and Castiel was standing tensely in front of him. They fell silent at her approach.

“Uh… coffee?” she said.

Dean moved away from the counter and waved at the pot. “Cas has it stocked.”

“You want?”

“No, thank you,” Castiel said mildly and Dean shook his head.

Charlie picked up two mugs from the drainer and filled them.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” she said in response to the tense silence of the room.

“Where is Kevin?” Castiel asked.

“Grocery run,” she replied. And a video game store run, but that was between them. “What’s going on in here?”

“We’re having a discussion,” Castiel said. 

Dean huffed out a breath. “Yeah. Maybe you can weigh in on it. Cas thinks we need to take a break from the hunt for the angel that screwed us over and live it up a while.”

“I agree,” Charlie said quickly.

“Exactly!” Dean said triumphantly. “Charlie agrees with… What?”

“I think we all need a break,” Charlie said, returning Castiel’s smile.

Dean gaped at her.

“Dean,” she said gently. “Sam is fried. Me and Kev take some downtime every now and then, but when was the last time you saw Sam reading a book that wasn’t about angels, or watching TV, or even paying real attention to a conversation that wasn’t about that angel?”

“See?” Castiel nodded. “Sam is obsessed, Dean. It’s like he is hunting Lilith all over again, and, well, look how….”

Dean’s expression darkened. “That ended? Was that what you’re trying to say?”

Castiel looked back at him impassively. “Not just that. Look how it ended when I was opposing Raphael—the Leviathans were freed.”

“I’ve not forgotten,” Dean said.

“No. I don’t imagine you have. And when I tried to reunify Heaven, it was emptied instead. These kinds of fights don’t end well. I know what happened to Sam was terrible, but…”

“You don’t know,” Dean said harshly. “You don’t _know_ what happened to him when that angel was inside.” He raked his fingers through his hair and blew out a deep breath as if he was trying to calm himself.

“What did happen to him?” Castiel asked.

Dean shook his head. “It’s not my story to tell. It’s Sam’s. He’ll tell you if he wants you to know. Trust me when I say it’s enough to make sense for him to want to kill that angel though.”

Charlie bit her lip. She didn’t like that they were keeping secrets from Castiel, but she respected the fact Sam deserved his privacy. Dean obviously felt bad for confiding in her already.

“Be that as it may,” Castiel said. “There is no harm in him taking a break for at least one day.”

“Fine,” Dean said. “If you can persuade him to stop for a day, I’ll get on board. I’ll do whatever it is you want to do. But we’re staying in the bunker to do it. I’m not risking you getting grabbed by another angel.”

Castiel smiled slightly. “Very well.”

“I’ll do my bit,” Charlie said. “See if I can persuade him to take a proper break: rehabilitate rather than just caffeinate.” She winked at Castiel and then picked up the mugs of coffee and carried them through to the library, Castiel and Dean following.

When she got there though, Sam was nowhere in sight. She set down their drinks and called his name, a hint of worry curling in her gut.

“Back here,” a voice echoed back along the halls.

Dean strode ahead of them, and after exchanging a glance, Charlie and Castiel followed. Sam was standing in the doorway to the filing room that also housed the dungeon. There was a smudge of dust on his cheek and in his hand was a manila file.

 “I found something,” Sam said excitedly. “I was looking in the card catalogue, and I found reference to a file on location spells.” He pushed back his hair with his free hand, his eyes bright and expression wired. “I thought it would just be demons, like the spell Bobby used to scry for Lilith, but since we’re scraping the bottom of the barrel here, I thought I’d check, and there’s something about angels, too!” He held up the file triumphantly.

“We can scry for an angel?” Dean asked, glancing at Castiel with a hint of accusation in his eyes.

“No,” Castiel said. “That only works for a demon.”

“Yeah, this one talks about grace,” Sam said. “We’ve never used that before.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t speak.

Sam brushed past them and walked into the library again. He set the file down on the table and ran his finger down the page. “Okay, I need…” He turned to the bookshelves and scanned the titles, pulling out a book and flipping it open. “Here! Cas, it’s Enochian. Can you read it?”

Castiel moved around the table and peered down at the book. “It says, _‘And the departed shall remain, and the remains shall be the departed.’_ ”

“Any idea what that means?” Dean asked.

“I believe it is referring to the grace that is left in a vessel following a possession.” Three faces stared at him blankly and he explained, “When an angel possesses a human, it leaves behind a portion of grace upon leaving. It is how I was able to use Raphael’s vessel to communicate with him when we trapped him, Dean.”

Sam blanched. “Wait! Does that always happen?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied, looking troubled.

“So there’s still a part of Lucifer in me?” Sam asked, looking a bit horrified.

Charlie’s gaze snapped from Sam to Castiel, as eager and yet concerned for the answer as Sam obviously was  

 “No,” Castiel said reassuringly. “When I took your body from Hell, the taint was removed. It does, however, mean that there is a part of the angel that posed as Ezekiel in you.”

Charlie expected Sam to look dismayed that the angel he hated so much was still a part of him, but instead he looked pleased, smug even.

“Uh… what…?” she started.

“This is good,” Sam said. “We’ve just got to find a way to get the grace out of me and we will be able to track the bastard down. This is awesome!”

Dean turned to Castiel. “Any idea how we get it out though?”

Castiel looked uncomfortable. “No. I don’t know how we would do that.”

Charlie was surprised. She had a suspicion Castiel was lying. She couldn’t understand why though, not until Sam snatched the book out of his hands and rifled through the pages, coming to a sudden stop with a wide grin. “I’m not sure,” he said, “but I think this might help.” He turned the book around and showed them a diagram of a large syringe with a wicked looking needle. “What do you think, Cas? Will this do it?”

“Possibly,” Castiel said reluctantly. “Probably. Yes.”

“Awesome,” Sam said. “I think I know where it’ll be, too.”

He rushed out of the room and Charlie went after him. They passed through the living quarters and into a hall lined with doors labeled _Storage Three, Laboratory, Clinic,_ among other things. Sam pushed open the door to the clinic and strode inside. Charlie glanced back and saw Castiel and Dean coming along behind them. Castiel looked wary, uncomfortable, and Dean uncertain. She guessed it was the idea of that brutal looking syringe that was worrying them. It was worrying her, too.

Sam was searching through a cupboard, muttering to himself. He seemed more alive with energy than he had been since before the witch and angel business started.

He pulled out a dusty box and set it down on a table beside the gurney in the center of the room. He flipped open the lid and lifted out the cast metal and glass syringe they had seen in the book. “Got it!”

It was even scarier looking in real life. The needle had to be at least four inches long, and it was thicker than any she’d ever seen. She supposed comfort hadn’t been a watch word when the Men of Letters were in business.

What exactly to do we with it?” he asked.

“We use it to siphon the grace, obviously, but I’m not sure how.” Sam looked past him at Castiel and asked. “Any ideas?”

Castiel shifted from foot to foot. “I… Uh…”

“Spit it out,” Sam said, his tone light.

“Yes,” Castiel said heavily “I know how it must work. But I… Don’t do this, Sam.”

Sam frowned. “Why not?”

“Because shoving a needle that long into your neck comes with inherent risks.” He broke off quickly and bit his lip.

Dean looked at Castiel. “What’s the real problem here, Cas? I know you’re not squeamish, so why freak now? Sure, I don’t want Sam impaling himself on Moby Dick’s toothpick there, but if it’s what it takes to get that angel, it’s what we’ve got to do.”

Castiel answered, staring into Sam’s eyes. “I cannot see this ending well. The angel is stronger than you. Faster. Even without its wings, it has grace. You could be hurt, killed, and I will not be able to fix you!” His voice was strong as he finished.

Sam looked at him sympathetically. “Cas, it’s not your job to fix us anymore. We’re past that. Your job is to just be here, the same way it’s ours.”

“And if you die?” Castiel asked. “If that angel kills you? What do I do then while I am ‘being here’?  Because you will not be here, too!”

Sam smiled and shook his head. “Not going to happen, is it, Dean?”

“No, it’s not,” Dean said seriously. “Sam’s right. You don’t need to fix us. You just need stay.”

“But if you can’t,” Sam said, “if you can’t stay to watch this, none of us will judge you. But it’s happening anyway.”

Charlie saw the indecision in Castiel. She felt some of the same uncertainty. She didn’t want to see Sam hurting, and a needle that size was going to hurt, but at the same time she wanted to be there for him, to help in whatever way she could to get him through this and to find the angel.

 Castiel sighed heavily, defeated, and said, “I will stay. I will help how I can, but I wish you would not do this. Whatever he did to you cannot be worth you risking your life.”

Sam’s expression darkened. “The Cage, Castiel! He shoved me into a loop of thoughts and memories of the Cage. That _is_ worth risking everything to avenge!”

Castiel sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Oh. So, are you going to help or just watch?” He picked up the syringe again and held it out to Castiel. “I’m guessing you know where to stick it, so… want to do the honors?”

Castiel’s hands dropped quickly to his sides. “No,” he said, his voice stricken. “I cannot do that.”

Dean sighed heavily, his tone one of forced easiness as he said, “I’ll do it.”

Charlie knew he didn’t want to though. Who would? She certainly didn’t, but when she saw the way Dean took the syringe from Sam, as if it was going to bite him, she realized she needed to. She was strong enough to do this for and to Sam, and she had the added bonus of knowing where the danger zones were to avoid.

“I’ll do it,” she said, taking it from Dean’s open hands.

“You sure?” Dean asked, voice torn between relief and uncertainty.

“I’m sure,” she said brightly. “I’m the only one here with anything resembling medical know-how after all.” She patted the gurney. “Up you hop, Sam.”

Sam smiled at her as he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, leaving himself in a thin undershirt. He lay down on the gurney and took a breath. “Okay, Doctor Bradbury, do your worst.”

“Do your damn best,” Dean corrected.

“Message received, boss,” she said. “Cas, where am I aiming?”

Castiel touched a point just below Sam’s right ear. “Just here. And be exceptionally careful. I advise you to go very slowly.”

Charlie nodded and pressed the tip of the needle to the spot Castiel had indicated. “Ready, Sam?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said confidently. “Go ahead.”

Charlie broke the skin and drew a deep breath before slowly easing it in deeper to his neck. Sam sucked in a breath.

“Okay, you’re okay,” Dean said gently.

“Yeah. Fine,” Sam said, though his voice clearly held his pain.

“That’s right,” Dean said. “You can do this.”

Charlie glanced at Castiel and he nodded, “Deeper.”

She bit her lip and pushed in another millimeter. She felt something then, warmth moving up the metal of the syringe onto her hand. “I think we’re there,” she said.

“Good,” Sam groaned. “Go ahead.”

“This is going to hurt, Sam,” Castiel warned, and Dean scowled at him.

“It’s fine. I can handle it.”

Charlie eased back the plunger of the syringe incredibly slowly, gasping when the blue-white light appeared in the chamber.

 Sam cried out, his hands clawing in the sheet beneath him. Dean grabbed one of Sam’s hands and gripped it in a hold so tight their skin whitened. Sam’s other hand flailed and slapped against Castiel’s chest. He tangled his fingers in the cloth of Castiel’s t-shirt. Castiel laid his hand over it and spoke in a hoarse voice. “It’s okay, Sam.”

Sam didn’t reply this time. His eyes were squeezed shut and his teeth gritted.

Blinking away tears, and hating what she was doing, Charlie drew the plunger back further. Suddenly Sam bucked, his back arching away from the bed and his head straining away from the pain. The needle slipped out of his neck and his hands clawed in front of him.

“Sammy!” Dean said harshly, seeing as Charlie did the trails of blood working their way out of his nose and down the sides of his face.

“What’s happening?” Dean asked Charlie.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It could just be the stress on his body. His blood pressure has to be sky rocketing.”

“Or?” Castiel asked.   

“I don’t know,” she snapped. She didn’t have enough knowledge. She wished she had studied more. She was at a loss here.

“M’fine,” Sam rasped. “Don’t stop.”

“Sammy,” Dean said uncertainly.

“No,” Sam said, his voice stronger now. His eyes opened and they were bloodshot. They fixed on Dean with determination though, and he said, “Don’t stop. Not for anything. Promise me!”

“Sam, no!” Castiel said horrorstruck.

Sam didn’t even glance at him. His kept his gaze fixed on his brother, waiting for the promise. Charlie thought she knew what was happening to Dean: he was torn between wanting to protect his brother and respecting his wishes.

“Okay,” he said eventually. “We won’t stop.”

Sam nodded and reached for Dean again.

Dean took his hand and patted it. “Right here.” He looked at Charlie. “Keep going, Charlie. Let’s get it done.”

Sickened, hating what she was doing, Charlie inserted the needle again and began to draw the grace up. Sam didn’t even try to hide the pain this time. He howled out in agony and Charlie blinked tears out of her eyes.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Dean chanted, his free hand laid on Sam’s forehead.

Sam’s howls became moans and he jerked slightly, as if being shocked with low voltage electricity, and Castiel added his reassurances to Dean’s. Then Sam stopped. The moans cut off, the jerking stilled, and the hand holding Dean’s loosened and flopped to his side when Dean released it.

“Stop, Charlie!” Dean ordered, and Charlie pulled the needle quickly from his neck. Sam didn’t even flinch. He remained almost perfectly still on the gurney.

“Sammy?” Dean asked, his voice oddly young.  “Wake up.”

Charlie dropped the grace filled syringe onto the table and grabbed Sam’s shoulders. “Sam!” Wake up!” she commanded.

Sam jostled but he did not respond.

“”What’s wrong with him?” Castiel asked her.

“I don’t know,” Charlie said, watching the blood work sluggishly out of Sam’s nostrils.

“He should be waking up,” Castiel said.

“Let’s just give him a minute,” Charlie said.

“Yeah,” Dean said quietly. “That’s all he needs, right, Sam?” He pushed his brother’s hair back from his brow and said gently, speaking to Sam not them. “You have your minute.”


	16. Chapter 16

They had given Sam his minute, and then, while Castiel stood uselessly at the end of the cot where she had pushed him in her attempts to wake Sam, Charlie tried to rouse him again. She pinched his earlobe and the tips of his fingers. She ground her knuckles into his sternum and shouted his name, and yet he didn’t react. All the while, Dean’s eyes remained fixed on Sam’s face and his hand on Sam’s forehead, pushing back the long hair from his face. His gaze was concentrated. Only when Charlie’s fingertips dropped from Sam’s throat and she barked Dean’s name for the second time, did he look at her.

“He needs a hospital,” Charlie said firmly.

“He doesn’t want—“ Dean started but Charlie spoke over him.

“We’re past that now. He needs actual doctors and equipment we don’t have here.”

Dean seemed to take the same meaning from her words that Castiel did. He needed actual doctors or he would never need anything ever again.

Castiel felt nausea rise in his stomach and he swallowed the saliva that flooded his mouth.

Dean stepped back from the bed, his hand moving reluctantly from his brother, and he kicked the brakes off of the wheeled feet of the gurney. “Come on then,” he said, grabbing the head of the rolling bed and pushing it at the door. The movement jostled Sam and his hand dropped from his side to hang off of the side of the gurney. The sight of it waving uselessly, uncontrolled by its owner, made Castiel retch. He rushed over to the basin and vomited until his stomach was empty, then, reeling back, he wiped a hand over his mouth and ran from the room following the sounds of Dean and Charlie’s voices as they whipped Sam away from home to help and hopefully salvation.

xXx

Castiel pulled the car to a halt in a spot of the hospital parking lot and climbed out quickly.

It had been decided at the bunker that Charlie would ride with Dean and Sam to the hospital, as she was the only one who had a chance at helping if anything was to go wrong. Castiel had lost his ability to help anyone when he had lost his grace.

He hurried through the closest door and came into a large lobby area. There was a desk and he was about to go there to seek assistance finding his friends, though he did not know what name Dean would have given for Sam. A voice hailed him though, and a hand settled on his elbow. He spun and saw Charlie beside him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her usually ivory skin almost grey.

“Sam?” Castiel asked, his voice cracked and fearful.

“He’s with the doctors,” she said.

“And Dean?”

“He’s there, too. They couldn’t make him leave.”

Of course they couldn’t. Dean had been through and seen too much to allow himself to be parted from Sam when things were so uncertain. He would need to be there as Castiel felt he needed to be, too.  

“Whereabouts are they?”

“They won’t let you see him yet,” she said. “Come sit down.”

Castiel let her lead him over to a corner of the room and to a chair. He sat, perched on the edge, ready to lurch into action at any moment, though he didn’t know anything of use he could do in the situation.   

“How is he?” he asked.

Charlie bit her lip. “I don’t…”

Castiel merely stared at her, waiting for her to complete her unfinished sentence.

A tear slid down her cheek and she said, “He’s so sick, Cas. The whole way here I was willing him to hold on, and he did, but when we got here… It happened fast, they rushed him off and then Dean was shouting, but I think his heart stopped.”

Castiel sucked in a shocked breath. “But he’s okay now?”

“I don’t know. They haven’t told me anything, but I think the fact they haven’t is good news. If Dean isn’t here with us, it means he’s still with Sam and that has to mean he’s still fighting. Doesn’t it?” She sounded very young.

Castiel didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure any reassurance would be the truth.  

She swiped a hand over her face. “I’m scared. I’m scared for Sam, and for Dean, too. I don’t know what he’ll do if Sam doesn’t make it. What will Crowley want this time?”

Castiel had no answer to give. He didn’t know what dark and twisted deal Crowley would elicit from them for Sam’s life. He knew that, whatever it was, Dean would be willing to make it though. He would do anything it took to save Sam. Castiel wasn’t sure he couldn’t say the same about himself.

He wrapped an arm around Charlie’s shoulders and pulled her close. “We will find a way, Charlie.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she replied.

They sat heads bowed, taking comfort in one another’s presence for what seemed like a long time before Castiel saw a shadow fall over them. He looked up and saw a woman dressed in pale blue scrubs standing in front of them.

“Are you with Sam Smith?” she asked.                             

“Yes,” Charlie said, lurching to her feet. “What’s happening to him?”

“You can come with me now,” the woman replied. “Your friend needs you.”

Which friend though? Did Dean need them to comfort him in his anguish or was there still hope for Sam?

Charlie tugged Castiel’s arm and he stood. She held his hand tight and they walked together after the woman through double doors and into a large room with beds separated by curtains housing people and companions lining against the walls. It seemed to bustle with energy, and Castiel took heart. Surely if the worst had happened, they would be bringing them to somewhere quiet and respectful, not this noisy place where life was still so obviously being lived.

They passed through that room, though, and into another hall where the sounds were quieter. Castiel felt sick again, but he swallowed it down and forced himself to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

The woman stopped outside a room and tapped on the door. Castiel didn’t hear a response, but she eased it open and spoke softly, “Your friends are here,” before gesturing them inside.

Charlie released Castiel’s hand and walked into the room. Castiel took a moment and a deep breath before entering, terrified of what he would find inside.

It was not the very worst case. Sam was alive. He was lying on a bed with a single pillow beneath his head. His chest was bare, the sheets and blanket only covering him to the waist, and there were small electrodes attached to his skin, connecting to a monitor at the side of the bed that recorded his heartbeats. They seemed too slow. Castiel tried to match them against his own, but his heart was racing in his ears. Under Sam’s nose was clear plastic tubing. It stood out starkly against the grey of his skin and the deep shadows under his eyes. He looked terrible, but he was alive.

Dean was sitting beside the bed, his hands clasped under his chin. Though his chair faced the door, he didn’t take his eyes from his brother until Charlie spoke his name.

His hands dropped to his lap and he said, “They got him back,” in a tone void of animation.

“Yes,” Charlie agreed. “Thank God.”

“Not Him,” Dean said darkly. “He has nothing to do with this.”

Charlie pulled up a plastic chair beside Dean’s and sat down, her hand reaching to clasp his.

Dean swallowed hard. “It’s the same as last time. They did these scans, and all the injuries from before are there. His organs are _burned_.” He sounded disgusted. “It’s like Zeke was never there in there at all. All the damage is back.”

Castiel gasped, understanding. How could he have not seen this? He had begged Sam not to do it, but it had been unformed fear then. He hadn’t known—God forgive him, he hadn’t seen—that the grace in Sam was what was holding him together.

His guilt must have shown in his eyes as Dean narrowed his and accused, “You knew this was going to happen?”

“No!” Castiel gasped, horrorstruck. “I didn’t think… But I see now.”

Dean nodded slowly. “Yeah, it wasn’t just grace we were pulling from Sam, it was healing, too. It was his life.”

“Oh God,” Charlie whimpered. “I did this to him.”

“No, I did it,” Dean said. “I thought Sam was strong enough. I didn’t stop you when I should have. I didn’t see what it was really doing. I thought he could beat it.”

“We all played a part,” Castiel said. “I should have realized what taking the grace would do. I didn’t think. I would have known once. The blame falls upon us all.”

“No one’s fault,” a raspy voice whispered.

“Sam!” Dean said, lurching to his feet and leaning over the bed.

Sam’s eyes opened slowly and he looked up at his brother. “Hey.”

Dean laughed shakily. “Hey. How’re you doing?”

Sam winced. “Hurts.”

“I know, man, I’ll get them to give you something.”

“No,” Sam said. “I don’t want to sleep. We need to talk.”

“We can talk later,” Dean said.

Sam’s bloodshot eyes fixed on him. “I’ve been able to hear for a while now, Dean. I just couldn’t wake up. I heard what the doctor said.”

Dean flinched as if the words had been a blow. “They don’t know what they’re talking about,” he said harshly. 

Sam shook his head slightly, wincing as if the movement pained him. “They do. And we need to talk”—he licked his lips—“about what comes after.”

Dean’s hands bunched in the sheet beside Sam’s shoulder. “There is no after. There is only now, and now we’re going to fix this.”

“No, we’re not. This time we’re letting it go.”

Dean straightened. “I am not letting _anything_ go, including you, so you can quit that shit now.”

Sam sighed tiredly. “Dean, we have to talk about it. This is it. This time it’s happening, and you can’t stop it.”

“The hell I can’t!”

“I don’t want you to. I don’t want angels. I don’t want demons or faith healers or whatever else you can think of. Don’t fight it. It’s time.”

Dean stepped away from the bed. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” Sam said, his voice stronger now. “You have to stop. Please, Dean, let me…”

“Go?” Dean snapped. “No! It’s not time.”

Sam smiled sadly. The small gesture seemed to sap what remained of Dean’s equilibrium. He spun on his heel and marched to the door. Yanking it open, he strode through and let it swing closed behind him.

“Charlie,” Sam said weakly, turning to her, his face falling as he saw the tears spilling down her cheeks. “Can you go after him? Don’t let him do anything stupid, okay?”

Charlie nodded and swiped a hand over her face. “I will. You…” She trailed off.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” Sam reassured her, though Castiel wondered how he could be so sure. Did he know he had enough fight in him to last a little longer, or was it an empty promise?

Charlie slipped from the room, a choking sound following after her just before the door closed.

Sam watched her go then said, “I guess I should have listened to you after all.”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “You should have.” He moved around the bed and sat in the chair Dean had vacated, his hand stretching to rest on the bed a few inches from Sam’s.

Sam patted his hand shakily and said, “I’m sorry, Cas. You were right. It was a bad idea.” He smiled slightly. “At least we got the grace out.”

Castiel stared at him stunned. How could he see that as a positive when it was costing his life?

“You’ll be able to find him,” Sam went on. “You have to do that, okay?”

“He will be punished,” Castiel said. “I promise you.”

“Good,” Sam said. “Dean will need that. When I’m gone, you have to give him something to fight for. Help him find that angel and kill it for what it did to us. Make that his focus.”

Castiel nodded. He would make it Dean’s and his own

“There’s something else, something that might help you,” Sam said. “When we were extracting the grace, I saw things. Parts of it were things that happened when I was possessed, others were things from my own life, but there was more—things I had never seen before. I think they were the angel’s memories.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. “What did you see?”

“A garden,” Sam said. “It was the most beautiful place I have ever seen. I was happy there—though it wasn’t me—but then there was more. There was a cell and I was hurting. I think I was being tortured by another angel. There was so much light; it looked just like the grace.”

Castiel felt that he should be numb to more shock, but as Sam told the story and he realized who he must be speaking of, he felt a hammer blow to his gut. There was only one angel that had been stationed at the garden and had been tortured for his crime there.

“I think his name was Gadreel,” Sam said.

The Betrayer, the cause of all evil in the world was free, and he had been in Sam. Though Castiel knew he never could have struck the blow that ended Sam’s life, he wished he could have killed him when he had the chance.

“We will end him,” Castiel vowed. He would help kill the angel that caused the world so much misery. He would avenge his friend and make the angel pay for the waste that was Sam’s end.

His throat seemed to swell shut as misery swept over him. 

“It’s okay, Cas,” Sam said soothingly.

Castiel blinked and felt wetness on his cheek. He was crying. He realized then that his breaths were harsh and his hands shaking, too.

“Please don’t, Cas.”

Castiel swiped a hand over his face to clear the evidence of his tears, but he couldn’t make his breaths steady. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Sam said, drawing a deep breath and resting his head back against his pillow for a moment. “It’ll be okay soon.”

“How can you accept this?” Castiel asked with a hint of anger in his tone. “Why aren’t you fighting?”

“Because there is nothing left to fight for but my own humanity,” Sam said. “And that is what I am clinging to. I have lost sight of that before, with Ruby and the blood, and I will not lose it again. I am human and humans die.”

“But if you didn’t have to?” Castiel asked.

Sam shook his head. “I do. Saving my life will cost something or someone. It always does. I don’t want my life’s legacy to be that. Bobby told me I had done better, and I want to go with good behind me not more failure.”

“Bobby told you?” Castiel asked.

“Long story,” he said weakly. “The point is, you have to stop Dean. He won’t want to let me go. He’ll try to save me, and I don’t want him to.”

“You want to die?”

“No,” Sam said, his voice stronger now. “I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you and Dean, Charlie and Kevin, but I can’t. I can’t win this time.”

Castiel stared at his friend, this strong, powerful man with so much left to offer, and he felt a wave of anger at himself. He had failed. Had he his grace he could have saved him. Sam would never be in this position: on the precipice of death with only determination to save the people left behind in his control.  He wished more than anything there was something he could do.

Then he realized there was. He may not have _his_ grace, that was lost to him, but there was something he could have in its place—someone else’s. 

He lurched to his feet and Sam’s expression became concerned. “Cas?”

“I need a minute,” he said, knowing Sam would understand and accept it. “I will come back soon.”

“Okay,” Sam said tiredly.

“Rest, Sam,” Castiel said, as Sam’s eyes drooped. “I will be back soon.”

“I’ll be here,” Sam mumbled.

Yes, Castiel thought, he would.

He strode through the door and spotted Charlie and Dean seated on hard chairs a little way along the corridor. Dean looked stricken at the sight of him, clearly fearing the worst.

Castiel stopped in front of him and fixed him with a stare. “Sam is resting now. He will need you when he wakes.”

Charlie nodded. “We’re coming.”

“I’m going,” Castiel said. “There is something I need to do.” He hesitated. “Tell Sam nothing of what I have said, but keep him strong a little longer, keep him here. Make no other choices, do not contact anyone else.”

Dean looked at him, something like hope in his eyes. “What are you doing, Cas?”

“I am going to save him,” Castiel said walking away from them, feeling their gaze on his back.

He was almost at the car when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked the screen and saw Kevin’s name. He answered quickly.

“Where the hell are you all?” Kevin asked in lieu of a greeting. “The Impala’s gone and there’s a damn gurney where it was. Is Sam sick again?”

“Yes,” Castiel said simply. “We’re at the hospital. Come quickly. They need you.”

He ended the call without another word. There was somewhere he needed to be.  

xXx

When Castiel had fled Bartholomew before, he hadn’t paid the greatest amount of attention to where he was held. He recognized the place he had stolen the car from though, and from there he backtracked along the streets until he found the building that had housed Buddy Boyle’s enterprise. Pulling the car to a halt he climbed out and made for the entrance.

The same woman was seated at the reception desk and she smiled blandly as he entered. “May I help you?” she asked, her voice coolly professional.

“My name is Castiel. I am here to see Bartholomew.”

She picked up a phone and pressed a button. After a moment, she spoke, “Sir, I have a Castiel here to see you.” She listened for a beat and then said, “Very good, Sir.” She set the phone back in its cradle and said. “He will see you now. Take the elevator to the sixth floor and he will be waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said, making for the bank of elevators. He summoned a car and when the doors slid open, he stepped inside and pressed the button for the sixth floor. He felt a little sick again, nervous. So much rode on this meeting. If Bartholomew had changed his mind, he didn’t know what he would do. He needed this to save Sam, and the rest of their small family by extension; not one of them would be unchanged should Sam be allowed to die.

When the doors opened on the sixth floor, Bartholomew was waiting for him in the neutrally decorated hall.

“Castiel,” he said, arms wide. “I am surprised to see you again so soon.”

“Bartholomew,” Castiel said respectfully.

Bartholomew led him into the office they’d met in last time, and gestured him into a chair, taking his own behind the desk. “How have you been?” he asked.

“Things have been difficult.” Castiel was eager to get to the point of their meeting, not knowing how long Sam would have the strength left to fight, but he knew he had to handle Bartholomew carefully. “I need help, Bartholomew.”

The angel raised an eyebrow. “How can I be of assistance?”

“Is the offer to join you still open?” he asked.

“Yes. It will remain open until you take it.”

“Then I would like to… negotiate.”

Bartholomew looked almost amused. “Negotiate? I think my offer is a good one, Castiel. I will return you to your former glory in return for you joining our ranks as my second. What more could you possibly want?”

“I need some time, just a few days before joining you,” Castiel said. “And I need assistance with something else.”

Bartholomew steepled his fingers under his chin. “What ‘something else’?”

“There is an angel I need help locating, and when he is found, I need agreement that the Winchesters and I can end him alone.”

“Which angel?” Bartholomew asked.

This was the point of the plan Castiel was unsure of. If Bartholomew knew _Gadreel_ was freed, he would seek to kill him himself—any angel would. But this was not the crux of it. The grace was. Castiel needed that to save Sam. Anything else was secondary to that.

“Gadreel,” he said.

Bartholomew **’s** eyes widened. “He is free?”

Castiel nodded. “All angels were cast down. Heaven’s jail must have been emptied, too.”

“And you want to end him?”

“Yes. Winchesters and I are owed a debt by him, and we wish to be the ones to collect.” He shifted uncomfortably. He wanted to get back to Sam already.

Bartholomew considered. “I admit that I am more than eager to end _that_ angel myself, but you have my agreement if you keep your part of the deal, Castiel. I will give you four days to complete your business and I will allow you and the Winchesters the privilege of that kill if you come back to me in return and serve as my second-in-command.”

“I will,” Castiel said solemnly.

He held out a hand and Bartholomew shook it firmly. “Then we are agreed.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the vial of swirling grace that was the price of Sam’s salvation. Castiel took it from him and stood, taking his last human breath and absorbing the last few beats of his human life giving heart. Then he pulled the stopper from the vial and tossed it to the floor.

Blue-white light swirled around him, rising to his lips. He opened his mouth and let it pour into him, changing him, empowering him, making him an angel again.

xXx

Sam’s eyes blinked sluggishly. Every time they closed he had to fight to open them again. He was tired, exhausted even, but with every glance around the room he saw his brother’s face looking at him, scared and sad, Charlie’s tearstained one and Kevin’s pallor, and they made him fight. It was the empty seat he really held out for though, the one that should house Castiel. 

He wasn’t sure how long his friend had been gone, time seemed irrelevant now at the end, but it seemed to Sam too long. He was in no hurry to close his eyes for the last time, but he didn’t think he could hang on much longer. He was just so tired.

He didn’t worry about what the former angel was doing though. He thought if anyone in his family would respect his choice to let it end now, it would be Castiel.

He blinked again and this time his eyes seemed impossible to open. It was only Dean’s voice, pleading with him, that enabled him to open them again.

“S’okay,” he whispered.

Someone choked back a sob but he didn’t know who. He hated that he was doing this to them—putting them through this macabre time before his goodbye—but he couldn’t deny he was comforted by it, too. He felt loved knowing they were all there for him now.

He felt a wave of pain rock through him, and he jerked. A hand gripped his. “You’re okay,” Dean soothed.

Sam nodded, not having the strength to reply aloud.

He was drifting away on his thoughts when he heard the door open. He looked to it, and smiled when he saw Castiel on the threshold.

“Cas.” He tried to speak, but his voice was a mere weak breath of air passing his lips.

“I am here,” Castiel said.

Sam was glad. It was time now.

Castiel came to the side of the bed and reached for Sam’s forehead. For a moment, Sam was confused, then he felt a shock of pain rocket through him and his back arched off of the bed, his eyes squeezing shut.

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice seemed to come from far away.

“What the hell are you doing?” someone else asked.

He heard Castiel’s voice, strong and holding the timbre of power Sam had not heard from him in a long time, “I am saving him.”

Sam felt heat surge through him and the heady feeling that accompanied being healed by an angel, and he knew.

_Oh, Castiel, what have you done?_


	17. Chapter 17

Castiel had gone to the clinic to return the gurney to its place when he found Charlie scrubbing the sink, the smell of his sickness still in the air. It was early in the morning, they’d only been back from the hospital an hour, and Sam was resting. Dean was in his bedroom, too, but Castiel doubted he was resting. He thought his friend just needed some space to deal with and feel what had happened to them all over the past day—the highs, the lows, and sheer relief. 

“I’ll do that,” he said quickly. “It’s my mess. My fault.”

Charlie smiled at him. “I don’t think getting sick is a fault under the circumstances, Cas.”

“Nonetheless, I will clean it.”

Charlie set down the scourer and bottle of cleaner she was using and stepped away. She boosted herself onto the gurney and perched on the edge, her feet swinging. Castiel looked at her, seeing the absolute peace in her eyes and he smiled. She was, they all were, brimming with happiness in the miracle of Sam’s presence in their lives still. He had done that. It was because of what he had done that Sam was with them still. That, and his own extraordinary relief, made what he had done more than worth it.  

He sprayed the dirty sink and began to scrub at the marks, smiling to himself. He knew this happiness would be short-lived, he would have to go to Bartholomew soon, but for now he was going to enjoy it. 

“Seems crazy how different it all feels now, doesn’t it?” Charlie asked.

“It does,” Castiel agreed.

Charlie leaned forward and picked up the syringe of grace. She handled it as it was something foul that would dirty her. “And this is what it was about.”

Castiel rinsed the now clean sink and then tossed the scourer into the bin. He looked at the grace swirling in the chamber and said, “It is more precious now than ever.”

She nodded. “It wasn’t worth what it almost cost us, but the fact this is going to help us find that dick Gadreel makes it feel like it wasn’t for nothing.”

“No, that wasn’t worth it,” Castiel said seriously. “No revenge is worth any one of our lives. But…” But the benefits of Sam’s life were worth what he had done. 

Charlie eyed him curiously. “But?”

“But other choices were worth the cost.”

“You’re talking about the fact you’re leaving, aren’t you?”

Castiel nodded.

“What really happened?” she asked.

“I told you all already.”

“No, you gave us some crap about how you’ve decided to work with the other angels now that you’ve got your grace back.” She narrowed her eyes. “What’s the real story?”

Castiel frowned. “I told you…” He trailed off as she raised an eyebrow. “How did you know?”

“Because Sam and Dean told me that Bartholomew was hunting you with the rest of the angels before, and suddenly he’s willing to help you out by returning your grace—which he just happened to have—to save Sam. I _know_ the angels aren’t Winchester fans, so why would he help suddenly? Also, after you were snatch and grabbed at the store, you told us Bartholomew had made an offer you couldn’t accept.”

Castiel sighed. He thought perhaps it was time to tell the truth to at least one person. It might help him carry the weight of what he had done. “I do not have my grace,” he started.

“But you healed Sam!” she said. “He’s healed and fine now, right?” There was fear in her voice.

“He is,” Castiel said reassured “He just needs to rest a while and he will be fine. But I lied about the grace. It is not _mine._ My own was used as part of a spell. I don’t know if there is even any left of it. I sometimes feel that there is, as if something is reaching for me, but when I seek it, I find nothing to follow.” He drew a breath and admitted his shame. “The grace I have now belonged to a different angel. His name was Malachi, and he was among the most brutal creatures I have ever known.”

“You have _another_ angel’s grace?” she asked.

“Yes. Bartholomew harvested it before killing Malachi and gave it to me.”

“How does that even work? Are you still you?”

“I am still Castiel. It is just that the power I have is not mine. I can utilize it though. Malachi was a powerful angel. It will sustain me and strengthen me a long time until…”

“Until?"

“It does not live in me,” Castiel said. “It burns like a flame, fuelling me. It won’t last forever.” He was almost relieved by that. When the last of the fuel was gone, he would no longer hold anything else of that angel within him.

“And when it… burns out?”

“It is entirely possible that I will become human again.”

“Or?” Charlie pressed.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I suppose it’s within the realm of possibility that I will die.”

Charlie looked horrified. “Cas!”

Castiel fixed her with a penetrating stare. “You will not tell anyone this. Any of it. Sam and Dean believe I have my grace. We will leave it at that. They do not need to know the truth.”

Charlie bit her lip. “I don’t want to lie.”

“They have no reason to ever ask you about it,” Castiel said. “You do not need to lie; you just need to not tell them. You can do that for me.”

“Okay,” she said, defeated. “I guess I owe you, we all do, so I won’t tell them, but I think you should.”

“No,” Castiel said firmly. “Sam more than anyone does not need to know the truth.”

Outside the clinic door, a pale and horrified Sam stood with his mouth open, listening to their conversation. He hadn’t intended to eavesdrop. He’d only come down to collect the grace, but when he’d heard what they were saying, he had frozen in place. He unfroze now, though, and slipped back along the hall on silent feet.

xXx

Sam was being watched. He understood it, sympathized even, as he’d been in their position before, dealing with a miracle after Dean came back from Hell, but he wished they’d stop and relax already. He was fine. He was in perfect health again. Castiel was the one that deserved their concern. He was the one with grace that could burn out and kill him; he was the one that had sacrificed so much for Sam. He could not tell them all that though, to redirect their focus, because he wasn’t supposed to know.

Sam was alone in the library, staring at the book that had informed him of the way to draw out the grace remaining in him. He wanted to do the spell now, to find Gadreel and kill him, before Castiel was forced to go to Bartholomew and join his cause. He wanted the angel to be a part of it, as he knew he owed Gadreel as much as Sam did—maybe more knowing what it had cost him to repair the damage they had done in the search for him.

There were heavy footsteps and Dean appeared at the stairs, his furrowed brow relaxing when he saw Sam. He came up the stairs, and then spotting the open box Sam had on the table beside him, he scowled. “What are you doing with that?” he asked, gesturing at the syringe filled with grace.  

“We need to do the spell,” Sam said.

“Not yet. Give it a few more days.”

“We can’t,” Sam said. Cas told Bartholomew he’ll be there in a few days, and he needs to be a part of this.”

“You’re not running on all cylinders yet.”

“I am,” Sam argued. “I’m completely healed now, better than I’ve been since before I started the trials. It’s time, Dean.”

Dean blanched and Sam realized his mistake. He had said the same words only a day before, when he was in a hospital bed balanced on the precipice of death, as he had pleaded with Dean to let him go.

“Dean, I…” he started, unsure of what to say.

“No,” Dean said brutally. “We’re not talking about it. Hell, I can’t even think about it right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, apologizing for the immediate and the previous failings.

Color flushed Dean’s cheeks and his determination to avoid the topic seemed to desert him. “Sorry! You do that to me, and you think sorry covers it?”

Sam sighed. “I am sorry I put you through that. You know I never would have intentionally, but the grace is the only way we’re going to find him.”

“This isn’t about extracting the grace, Sam. Though that was all kinds of messed up, I own my part in that. I am talking about you quitting! About you being ready to just give it all up, all of us, without even trying to fight.”

“I fought,” Sam said angrily, remembering the struggle it had been to keep going as long as he could. It had been so hard to keep his eyes open when all they wanted to do was close, how he felt he had to concentrate all his will on keeping his heart beating and lungs working just a little longer from second to second.

“Not enough! You wouldn’t let me make it right. I could have saved you!”

“At what cost? We already owe Crowley our backup when he goes after Abaddon. What else would he take from us and what would it cost the world?”

“Whatever it was, it would have been worth it!” Dean snapped.

“No,” Sam said sadly. “It wouldn’t. It would have destroyed someone, probably you, and that would have destroyed me, too.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Exactly! You would have been fighting just as hard for me, you said so yourself.”

Sam closed his eyes. Dean was right. He would have done whatever it took to save him, too. “See! You can’t even argue,” Dean said triumphantly.

“I can’t,” Sam agreed. “How about we just accept that it’s over now anyway.”

“Thanks to Cas,” Dean said.

“Yes,” Sam said seriously. It hadn’t been Dean’s sacrifice this time. It had been Castiel’s, and Sam was now going to need to find a way to repay him, to perhaps save him in return. “Thanks to Cas I am healthy again. I am ready, and now we’re going to use what he gave us to find the son of a bitch that did this to us and kill him.”

Dean glowered. “Fine. Okay, fine, but we’re doing this smart, Sam. We’re going to find him and scope the situation. We’re not going in all guns blazing until we know for sure we can take him out. I am not risking losing any one of us to him again. Understand?” 

“Yes,” Sam said, picking up the box containing the grace. “We’re not losing anyone else.”

Including Castiel.

xXx

 “Should we send up a Hail Mary or something?” Kevin asked.

Charlie grinned at him. “You think we should ask for assistance from a religious figure for killing an angel? I think that’s what’s called a conflict of interest, Kev.”

“Yeah, but this angel is a dick. Surely no one up there cares about him after what he did. Cas?”

Castiel looked up from the book he was bowed over studying. “No, I don’t imagine anyone cares for Gadreel after what he did to the world. I wouldn’t bother with prayer though.”

The fact it was an angel of the lord saying that, Sam thought, was a pretty good sign of the times. God was taking a very extended break, and Heaven was empty of all angels but Metatron. It was not the time of miracles but for those performed by good friends.

“I think I have it,” Castiel said, straightening. “The spell will form a conduit between the map and Gadreel. It will show us where he is in the world when it is poured over.”

“Hands up if you’re hoping for North America,” Charlie said, raising her hand and grinning when Kevin did the same.

“Let’s just get it done,” Dean said tersely.

“Yeah” Sam agreed. “Sooner we find him, sooner we kill him.”

He knew that wasn’t what Dean had meant, but Dean didn’t object.

Castiel picked up the bowls of herbs he had gathered from the lab and poured them carefully into the copper bowl they had prepared for the spell. Sam spread his hands over the world map on the table, laying it flat. He wasn’t sure what they would do if Gadreel had left the country. They were wanted—if believed dead—criminals, and it was unlikely they would be able to get through the tight security of an airport with fake passports. He supposed Crowley might be able to help them somehow, though that would surely come at a cost.

“Would you like to do the honors, Sam,” Castiel asked, picking up the syringe from the box.

Sam shook his head. “It’s okay. You go ahead.”

Castiel nodded and opened the syringe, pouring the grace over the bowl. The blue-white light seemed to feel for the air as it slipped down, as if it was alive and sentient.

He held his breath as the mixture started to boil and steam. This was it. This was what was going to find Gadreel.

“No,” Castiel moaned. 

“What?” Dean asked harshly. “What’s wrong?”

Sam saw it already. The ingredients had burned and stuck to the sides of the bowl, and the grace was gone. There was nothing to pour over the map. “It didn’t work,” he said in a defeated tone.

“Cas?” Dean prompted.

“There was not enough grace,” Castiel said.

Sam felt a wave of fury and he turned from them all and raked a hand over his face.

“Sam,” Castiel called.

“What?” Sam snapped.

“It’s not over.”

Sam felt a surge of hope. “Is there more grace still in me?”

“Sam, no!” Charlie gasped.

Castiel shook his head. “No. It has been replaced by my own from the healing. It’s just that, now I am working with Bartholomew and we have access to other resources to find him.”

Sam scoffed. “You really think that’s going to work? I don’t. I think that bastard is running free and he’s going to stay that way.” He kicked at the chair beside him and it fell back with a clatter. “Dammit!”

He stormed out of the library, the eyes of the others on his back.


	18. Chapter 18

Dean tapped his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the music and smiled across at Sam who was studying something on his tablet. Dean had thought getting out of the bunker would be good for his brother, getting him away from the library, but it looked like he’d just bought the library with him.

Since the grace spell had crapped out, Sam had been distant. His initial anger had lasted all of a couple days and then, the day Castiel left the bunker, it became some kind of laser-focused determination to find another way. Dean had grown accustomed to one-sided conversations in which Sam made vague replies, not taking his eyes from the book he was reading.

He understood it. That angel had done something awful to Sam, and he deserved to die for it, but he didn’t let that need for revenge take over when there were things they had to appreciate—like Sam’s life. Dean just wanted to take a little time to enjoy that together. He was feeling good. They were on the road again, just the two of them, and while they weren’t heading to a hunt, they were going to see Castiel for the first time in weeks and that made Dean happy.

“So, you think the kids will throw a kegger while we’re gone?” he asked, hoping once again to engage his brother.

“I think it’s more likely they’ll freebase donuts and play videos games together,” Sam replied, a smile curving his lips. “Your lecture on the meaning of a secret base probably sunk in the fourth time around.”

Dean took the smile as a win, a feeling which grew as Sam set the tablet down on the seat between them and rubbed a hand over his eyes.  

“Besides, I get the feeling Charlie has about as many _real_ friends as Kevin does, so their guest list would be a little short anyway.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean,” Dean said seriously. It wasn’t like his address book was bursting at the seams, but it seemed strange to him that Charlie, who was so lively and endearing, didn’t have more people in her life. She’d been living with them in the bunker for months now and Dean hadn’t seen her make one personal call to fill anyone in on what was happening to her. It was a shame Dorothy had left when she did. She had been good for Charlie. There could have been something more there. He supposed it didn’t matter really, as they both, Kevin and Charlie, had a place in their small family if they were lacking friends.

Sam glanced out of the window as they passed a sign declaring fifty miles to Oklahoma City and he smiled. “Nearly there,” he said.

Dean nodded and pressed down a little harder on the gas. He had a feeling the key to keeping Sam’s mood light was to get him to Castiel, and while he didn’t understand it, he was happy to oblige.

xXx

The address Castiel had given them was to a tall building on a smart street. Dean whistled through his teeth as he pulled the car to a halt and they both climbed out.

“Not what I expected,” he said.

Sam frowned up at the building. “Guess it makes sense.  Buddy Boyle was a popular preacher and people like that tend to rack up big donations to the heavenly cause.” 

Dean nodded sagely. “People don’t mind anteing up the cash if they think it will get them into Heaven.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “They shouldn’t bother. Heaven isn’t picky. It let me in once after all.”

“Sam!” Dean said harshly, but Sam was already walking away from him and through the double glass doors to Boyle’s kingdom.

Dean hurried after him and came into a large lobby. Directly opposite the door there was a reception desk with a young woman seated behind it. Dean tagged her as human in her floral blouse showing a modest amount of cleavage. He’d never seen an angel dressed like that before. Sam was already striding towards her, and Dean hurried to catch up with him.

Before Sam could speak, she reached for the phone, pressed a button and then said, “The Winchesters have arrived. Yes, sir.” She set the phone down and looked up at them. “Someone will be with you shortly.”

“You know who we are?” Sam asked.

“You are Sam and Dean Winchester, and you’re here to see Castiel.” In response to Sam’s raised eyebrow she said, “They told me what to expect.”

“This should be interesting,” Dean murmured then raised his voice. “And what were you expecting?”

“Denim and flannel, long hair on the big one and a scowl on the little one.”

“Little?” Dean asked indignantly.  

“And there’s the scowl,” she said, satisfied.

Sam coughed a laugh and then turned quickly as the elevator doors slid open. Dean’s eyes fell on Castiel first and he grinned, then he took the full scene in and his smile fell. There was a man standing beside him. Dean knew he was an angel at once; from the tips of his polished oxfords to his bland haircut, he looked the part. He held himself differently, too, with posture only pageant queens and angels bothered with. He had to be Bartholomew. He oozed power and confidence. He looked every inch the dick Dean characterized angels as, standing in his black suit. Castiel seemed a diminutive figure beside him, though they were the same height and Castiel was standing just as straight-backed in his charcoal suit.

Dean quickly disregarded Bartholomew and addressed Castiel as he stepped out of the elevator. “Cas, man, it’s good to see you.” He walked towards his friend, and Castiel quickly held out a hand to shake. Frowning at the jerky movement, Dean took it and shook.

“Hello, Dean, Sam,” Castiel said, shaking Sam’s hand as well.

Sam looked just as puzzled as Dean was at the stiff greeting, but he didn’t comment. Castiel released Sam and gestured to Bartholomew, “This is Sam and Dean Winchester.”

“Of course,” Bartholomew said with a smile. “How good to meet you at last. Castiel has told me so much about you.”

“He has?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Bartholomew said, making the single word seem like a warning. “He has made me see that you are more than just the men who brought about the end of the world.”

There was a small squeak of surprise from the woman behind the desk.

Dean glanced at Sam and saw his mouth was pressed into a thin line.

“Let’s go somewhere we can speak freely,” Bartholomew said. Castiel nodded and walked back into the elevator. Sam and Dean followed, and Bartholomew positioned himself in front of them.

The tension in the small car was thick as they traveled upwards. Dean thought he could feel it pouring from Castiel. He wished they were alone so he could ask him what the hell was going on.

The doors slid open and Bartholomew led them through a hall into a large office. The room was long and there were comfortable chairs around a low coffee table and at the opposite end a desk with a large chair behind it. It was so lacking in personality that Dean thought it could have belonged to anyone, male or female.

“Take a seat,” Bartholomew invited, smiling at them.

Dean crossed the room and threw himself down onto the chair closest to the door, making the movement look easy and relaxed when internally he was tense and angry at the reminder of their history, which he was sure was intended to bother Sam more than him. Why the angel wanted to unsettle Sam, Dean wasn’t sure.

Sam sat beside him, his own movements not nearly as relaxed as Dean’s. Dean shifted in his seat and nudged Sam’s elbow. Sam glanced at him from the side, and Dean gave him a pointed look, his message clear—lighten up.

Sam nodded once and a smile spread across his lips. “It’s good to see you, Cas,” he said, his words heartfelt.

“You too,” Castiel said quietly, almost as if he was ashamed of the confession.

“Yes,” Bartholomew said, taking a seat beside Sam and gesturing for Castiel to sit, too. “It’s been hard to keep Castiel’s mind on business for worrying about you and your… friends.”

Dean frowned. Castiel had called a few times since he’d left, and they’d reassured him each time that everyone was okay, so it didn’t make sense he was worrying about them. Dean guessed there was something else bothering Castiel.

“What exactly is your business?” Dean asked. “Cas hasn’t told us much.”

“We are seeking to reunite all angels under the same banner again,” Bartholomew said smoothly. “Since the fall angels have been spread over the earth, ill-equipped to deal with its challenges. We want to bring them all together again, to protect them.”

“That’s quite the mission,” Sam said. “If they’re spread across the world, how are you finding them?”

“We have operatives on six continents searching for them and gathering them,” Bartholomew answered.

Dean nodded slowly. “And what are you doing about Metatron?”

“Thus far, there is nothing we can do. It is believed he has ensconced himself in Heaven. Our operatives are searching for him as well as other angels, but there has been no sign. I assure you, though, that when he is found, he will be killed.”

Sam turned to Castiel. “What’s your job here, Cas?”

“He is my second,” Bartholomew said proudly.

“He can’t answer for himself?” Dean asked a little angrily.

“Of course he can. Castiel, tell your curious friends what we’ve been doing here.”

Castiel shifted uncomfortably.  “As Bartholomew said, I am his second-in-command. My role is mainly leading the search for Gadreel at the moment. All angels are alert for him. It is difficult, as few of us met him as an angel so would not recognize him if we were to see him again.”

Dean remembered the angel that had come to kill him in the hospital and how he hadn’t known who Gadreel was. Castiel had told them Gadreel had been in jail since the time of the Garden of Eden, and Dean guessed angels weren’t much for visiting convicts.

“That is if he even has found a vessel again,” Bartholomew said. “They are not easy to procure in this day and age.

Sam straightened in his seat. “What about his old vessel?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, understanding. “He had a vessel when he came to the hospital as Zeke. He could have gone back to that one.”

Bartholomew leaned forward. “What did he look like?”

“Like a dick,” Dean said automatically.

Sam scowled at him. “Seriously, Dean?”

“We need to know,” Bartholomew said intensely.

“What do you want me to do?” Dean asked. “Magic up a PhotoFIT of the brother high-jacking asshole?”

Sam sagged. He knew as well as Dean that there was no artistic talent in them.

“He came to you at the hospital,” Castiel said in a tone of dawning realization. He turned to Bartholomew. “There may still be surveillance footage of him.”

“Probably,” Dean said. “When we left, he was unconscious. And it’d have been a strange one, what with me and Sam disappearing and him being dumped.” Especially as Sam was supposed to be brain dead and on the way out when they’d disappeared.

Castiel looked animated. “I will have them search at once.” He got to his feet and disappeared out of the room, leaving the brothers with Bartholomew.

Dean waited until the door had closed behind him and then turned his attention to Bartholomew. “I have a couple questions for you,” he said.

Bartholomew looked amused. “I thought you might. What would you like to know, Dean Winchester?”

 “We want to know what you really want from Cas,” he asked.

“I want to return him to the glory of Heaven. He is proving a very capable second-in-command. He is regaining the respect of all angels by assisting me.” He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t expect you to understand, but Castiel was once among the greatest of us all. He commanded me in battle, and I have never known a commander like him. He was exceptional before he met you. Though his association with you Winchesters he has Fallen, killed thousands of angels, and become human.”

“Yeah, that’s our fault,” Dean said scathingly. “He Fell for the sake of the world. He killed thousands when he was juiced up on Purgatory souls—something we tried to stop him doing—and he became human thanks to that dick Metatron.”

“Your influence is what caused him to make those choices,” Bartholomew said.

“Whatever,” Dean said idly. “You can bring him back to the glory of Heaven, I think he’d like that, but if you try to hurt him, we will see that you die for it. And it won’t be an easy death.”

“No,” Bartholomew said with a mirthless laugh. “I don’t imagine it would be an easy death from the man that studied under Alastair.”

Dean’s face colored but his tone was mild as he replied. “You’re not wrong. I know how to hurt. I will make sure to use everything I learned on you.”

Sam laid a hand on his arm and Dean relaxed. “Right. Glad we got that sorted.”

The door opened then and Castiel came back into the room holding a tablet in his hands. He looked wired, excited, and Dean felt a surge of hope.

“I think we found the footage,” Castiel said. He brought the tablet to Dean who stood. “Is this him?”

Dean looked at the frozen video on the screen. It showed him and the angel he’d believed was Ezekiel walking along the hospital corridor together. “That’s him,” he spat, hatred at the sight of the angel filling him.

Sam peered over his shoulder and his expression darkened.

“What do we know about him?” Bartholomew asked.

“Berieah is running a program to search for him as we speak,” Castiel said. “She believes she will have a name within a matter of a few hours.”

“Wonderful,” Bartholomew said.

“Awesome,” Dean said, throwing an arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “Well, Bart, we’ve got time, so me and Sam are going to take your ‘very capable second’ out for a beer. Right, Cas?” 

Castiel looked at Bartholomew, seeming to seek permission. It made Dean’s gall rise to see him acting like this.

“Of course you should,” Bartholomew said. “We have a strategy meeting in two hours, Castiel, and you will of course be needed there, but until then you should absolutely spend time with your friends.”

Castiel set the tablet down on the table and said. “Thank you, Bartholomew.”

Dean led them out of the office and to the elevators, glancing back to see Sam’s concerned look as he walked with Castiel. Dean felt the same. There was something going on with his friend, and he was going to find out what.

xXx

When they were ensconced in a bar a few blocks away from Bartholomew’s place, with beers in front of them and the jukebox keeping their conversation private from the other patrons, Dean asked, “What’s really going on, Cas?”

Castiel looked innocently confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what is really going on with that Bartholomew dick?”

Castiel sighed. “What he said was the truth. I am leading the search for Gadreel. I am largely left alone to lead the angels at my command. But…” He trailed off, looking troubled. 

“But?” Sam prompted.

“There are other things I am not commanding,” he said. “And they are the things I am not comfortable with. Bartholomew did not lie; he is searching for the other angels to bring them to our banner, but it is not as peaceful as he made it seem. The angels that are refusing to join us are being… persuaded and I do not agree with the methods. Angels are being hurt, even killed, for their refusal.”

Sam looked stricken. Dean was confused. Sure, it sucked if vessels were dying, too, but they were angels. Surely he wasn’t going to lose sleep over there being less of them in the world.

“Is he hurting you?” Sam asked.

“No,” Castiel said quickly. “He has been good to me, giving me what he has and letting me stay out of that part of the battle. I just struggle with the loss of life.”

“Then quit,” Dean said easily. “Come back with us. You don’t have to stay.”

“I do,” Castiel said quickly.

“Why?” Dean asked.

“Because this is the only way I am going to be able find Gadreel for you.”

“We can do that ourselves,” Dean said. “Now we’ve got a picture of him, we can have Charlie hack around and get us a name. We’ll find him no worries. Come on, Cas, you’re not happy here, so come home.”

“I cannot,” Castiel said. “I made an agreement with Bartholomew to stay.”

“What kind of agreement can be important enough to stay like this for?” Dean asked.

Castiel’s eyes flickered to Sam and then he quickly ducked his head.

“This is because of me,” Sam stated. “This is my fault.”

“No,” Castiel said immediately. “There is no fault.”

Sam drew a deep breath then wiped a hand over his face and said, “I heard you, Cas, you and Charlie talking that night.”

Castiel looked horrified. 

Dean frowned at him. “Saying what?”

Sam stared Castiel as he answered. “The grace Bartholomew gave Cas wasn’t his own. It belonged to some other dick. Cas took it so he could save me, but it’s not his. It doesn’t work the way his own did. It’s fading.”

“Sam, I…” Castiel started apologetically.

“And he doesn’t know what’ll happen when it runs out,” Sam went on. “It could kill him.”

Dean sagged back in his seat, shock quickly morphing into anger. “Why didn’t you tell us?” he asked Castiel, then turned on Sam. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was ashamed,” Sam said. “I couldn’t bear what he’d been forced to do, so I hid it. It’s what I’ve been doing these past weeks—searching for a way to fix it for Cas.”

Dean understood his shame. He’d made choices and people had done things for him before that made him feel the same way—like his father had when he’d made the deal for his life. He was still angry though. He could have helped Sam search.

“I am sorry,” Sam said, fixing his eyes on Castiel. “I never meant for you to have to do that. And now you’re stuck with that dick, and it’s my fault.”

“Do not apologize,” Castiel said firmly, reaching across the table and gripping Sam’s wrist forcefully. “I have no regrets for the choice I made as it enabled me to save you. The cost of working with Bartholomew is nothing compared to that.”

Sam looked away, unable to meet Castiel’s gaze.

“It’s okay,” Dean said bracingly. “We’ll fix this. We’ve handled plenty worse before. Cas, can you hold out a little longer while we work out something for your grace problem?”

“Yes,” Castiel said confidently. “I can feel it within me, and there is much left so we have much time.”

“Awesome,” Dean said. “Leave it to me and Sammy. You just keep on keeping on, okay?”

“Yes,” Castiel said seriously. “I can do that.”

“Good,” Dean said.

Sam looked at him and Dean thought he saw some hope in his eyes. Sam had been working the problem solo, tying himself into knots over it. Though he wished his brother had spoken up sooner, Dean got why he hadn’t. It didn’t matter now anyway. They would fix the grace problem and then get Castiel away from Bartholomew, because his friend might not realize it, but he did need to be rescued, and not just from his fading grace. That asshole Bartholomew was cowing him, and Dean and Sam weren’t going to leave him to deal with that alone.  

Abaddon, Gadreel, Metatron, and now Bartholomew. There was a lot of work for them to do.


	19. Chapter 19

They didn’t speak anymore about grace or Gadreel. It felt to Sam that they were all wrung out and needed a distraction, so they told Castiel about what had been happening at the bunker, how Kevin was doing, and about Charlie’s new project—cataloguing the archives on a database so they could get the information they needed when they were on the road.  

When the time came around for the meeting Bartholomew had spoken about, Castiel said apologetically that he needed to leave. Sam hated that he felt he had to apologize for what he was doing, especially when he was doing it all for them anyway. Because of Sam, he had made the deal. Because of Gadreel, he was keeping it.

“No problem,” Dean said easily, taking a last draw on his beer. “We’ll get you back on time. I want to see what they’ve got on Gadreel anyway.”

Looking relived, Castiel stood and they left the bar. Sam noticed that as they got closer to Bartholomew’s offices, Castiel grew stiffer. It was as if he was shedding the small amount of relaxation and ‘Cas’ that he’d gained spending time with them and was becoming the angel Castiel again. By the time they were pushing open the double glass doors, he was straight-backed and yet he seemed somehow diminished. Sam hated that he had put his friend in this position.

His feelings must have shown on his face as Dean nudged him with his elbow and shook his head curtly. Sam quickly forced his features into something more neutral.

“We going to be able to sit in on this meeting, or is a wings only deal?” Dean asked.

“I…” Castiel looked uncertain.

“Of course you can join us,” Bartholomew said, striding through a door a little ahead of them. “Excuse me, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but angel hearing doesn’t miss much. You are more than welcome to come. We have things to share and things to ask you as well.”

“Awesome,” Dean said, his smile not meeting his eyes.

Castiel looked relieved. Sam guessed he was reluctant to refuse them and risk Dean’s ire, but uncomfortable authorizing their involvement himself.

“If you would follow me, gentlemen,” Bartholomew said, walking through a door at the end of the lobby and holding it open for them. 

Castiel led them forward. They passed through a hall lined with doors to the end where there was a set of double doors. Bartholomew pushed them both open and said loudly, “We have guests today. Sam and Dean Winchester are joining us.”

There were murmuring voices in return that fell silent when Dean and Sam entered. The room held a long table surrounded by chairs where a dozen angels already sat. Bartholomew moved quickly to the head of the table and sat down.

“Please, take a seat,” he said, gesturing to the grouping of empty chairs at the other end of the table.

Sam and Dean sat, and Castiel glanced between them before moving along the room to take a free seat beside Bartholomew. Even with the other angels around them, quiet observers now, Sam only paid attention to Bartholomew, feeling almost as if they were being interviewed.

Dean apparently felt none of the same tension as he rocked back on the chair legs and said with perfect serenity, “So, find the vessel yet?”

“Yes,” Bartholomew said. “Berieah, would you like to do the honors?”

An angel with rich mocha skin and dark eyes cleared her throat and said, “Yes, sir. We used facial recognition to search the DMV records and found this.” She held up a printout of a driver’s license. “The vessel is called Antony Malone. His last known address is Erie, Pennsylvania. At the moment we do not know his occupation, but we’re working on it.”

“Good work, Berieah,” Bartholomew said approvingly, smiling at the angel who nodded solemnly.

“Can I get a look at that license?” Dean asked.

Bartholomew nodded and the printout was passed down the table to them. Sam managed only a quick glance at the paper before Dean snatched it away, scowling down at the face used by the angel he detested. 

“Organ donor, huh?” Dean murmured. “More like whole body.”

Dean folded the sheet of paper and tucked it in his pocket, grinning at Bartholomew as if goading him.

“You should hold onto that,” Bartholomew said.

“I will,” Dean said smugly. He addressed Berieah, “You got anything else that can help track him down?”

She glanced at Bartholomew as if seeking permission before answering. “Nothing yet,” she said.

Dean relaxed back in his chair. “I’m sure you tried.” He glanced at Sam. “Anything else you think?”

“No,” Sam said, making to rise from his seat.

“If you would give us just another moment of your time,” Bartholomew said, “there are a few things I would like to ask you both before you leave.”

Curious, Sam sat back and Dean did the same. “What do you want to know?” Dean asked. 

“Kevin Tran,” Bartholomew said and they both stiffened.

“What about him?” Sam asked guardedly. 

“I was wondering what progress he has made with the angel tablet.”

“None,” Dean said quickly and honestly.

There was a sigh around the room.

“He is still studying it though?” Bartholomew asked.

“Yes,” Sam said. Which was true. Kevin had been working on the tablet for weeks now, and it seemed he’d hit a roadblock in the form of Metatron’s slyness. He said it was like the tablet wasn’t _supposed_ to be readable. The words were there, but they didn’t make sense—it was gibberish of symbols in the wrong order to read. The last time they’d spoken about it, Kevin had said he was going to focus on deciphering each word individually and then try to put them into something sensible as a kind of anagram puzzle.

“Hardly stops,” Dean added.

“Good,” Bartholomew said. “I am sure the secret to getting back to Heaven lies within that tablet.” His expression softened into something Sam guessed was supposed to be friendly. “You know, if he would relocate here, we could help him.”

“How?” Sam asked pointedly.

“We _are_ angels,” Bartholomew said.

Sam looked amused.  “Yeah, but the tablet isn’t for angels, is it? It’s for the prophet. It’d make just as much sense to you as it would to us.”

“Nah,” Dean said easily. “Kev’s just fine where he is at the moment, thanks. He’s perfectly safe.”

“And where might this fine and safe place be?” Bartholomew asked.

Sam glanced at Castiel who shook his head slightly to indicate he hadn’t told Bartholomew where their place was.

“It’s home,” Dean said firmly, and got to his feet.

Reluctant to leave Castiel alone with the angels he hated, Sam stood slowly and beseeched him with his eyes to understand. Castiel nodded slightly and smiled.

“Thanks for the info,” Dean said. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”

Bartholomew scowled but his voice was mild as he answered, “And we shall do the same.”

He could, Sam thought, following Dean from the room, but the only way the angels were going to get anything from them was if Castiel asked for it himself. The rest of them could wait a lifetime.

xXx

“Bow to me for I am the queen,” Charlie’s cheery voice came over the cell phone’s speaker.

“Is this about Moondoor?” Dean asked, frowning at the phone Sam held between them as they drove along the I-70 toward Pennsylvania. “Because I thought you were hanging back on that until our latest crisis is taken care of.”

“I am,” Charlie replied, her smile obvious in her voice. “Doesn’t mean a queen doesn’t have needs. Maybe a curtsey from time to time would be nice. No, what I’m talking about this time is my regal magnificence at hacking.”

“You got more on the vessel?” Sam asked, straightening in his seat.

“Yep. I got the real good stuff. We know his name is Antony Malone, right, but did you know he’s usually called Tony? No. Of course you didn’t, as you haven’t got my mad skills. He’s suitably religious for a vessel. Belongs to a local church group and a few online message boards that are all about praising the holy hide-and-seek champion.”

Dean laughed.

“What else did you get?” Sam asked.

“The address on his license is valid. He’s been there six years. He works in the Antler’s Pub on West Fourth Street, Erie. He had a girlfriend, but that crapped out about a year ago. He still talks about her sometimes. I’m getting a slightly creepy but not stalkerish vibe about him. He has no family in his life that I can see. He likes Christian Rock—Larry Norman not Skillet—and hiking, but his guilty pleasure is Netflix. Need me to go on?”

“No,” Dean said. “I was mainly looking to check the address to be honest.”

Charlie scoffed. “Hours it took me to find all this out and you just wanted an address! I am so undervalued.”

“You’re awesome,” Dean acknowledged. “And you’re absolutely the queen. How did you find all this?”

“Is that the time? I better go,” Charlie said quickly.

“Charlie,” Sam said pointedly. “How did you find all this? You didn’t get yourself in trouble with this, did you? Where are you?” A curl of worry settled in his gut. What if Charlie was in Pennsylvania already, doing her Fed impression to get what they needed? If Gadreel was still hanging around…

“Okay, maybe I’m not a queen this time,” she said. “I found it all on Facebook.”

Sam laughed, relief washing through him. “You are always a queen,” he said. “And we’re really grateful for you looking this up for us. We’ll curtsey when we get back. ”

“Why thank you, kind sir,” she said in modulated tones. “Seriously, though, he hasn’t updated Facebook in a while, so I’m thinking he’s not the one running the switches right now. If you see him, it’s probably going to be the angel not the vessel. Be careful!”

“We will,” Dean answered. “Don’t worry. You and Kev just do what you’ve gotta do and we’ll be home as soon as.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice returned to its customary brightness. “See ya.”

Sam ended the call and tucked the phone back in his pocket.

“Tony, huh?” Dean said.

“Yeah.” Sam wondered if Dean was thinking the same thing as him. They had a face for Gadreel, and a possible location, but what about the vessel? Sam had a face for him, too, a name, and a list of some of his likes and dislikes. It made him human, real. But if Charlie was right and Gadreel had taken him for a vessel again, he was fated to die. Sam would not pardon the angel for the sake of the vessel, and there was no other way to kill him, but he would not relish the kill the way he had anticipated before.

xXx

They stopped for the night in a motel in Indianapolis and set out early again the next morning, arriving in the city around noon.

They went straight to the address they’d pulled from the man’s driver’s license. Even though the evidence was pointing towards him being Gadreel’s vessel again, they needed to be sure before they started to search further for the man.

The address was on the ground floor of an apartment block on the edge of the city. It was in a well kept but not affluent area, similar to the place Sam and Jess had shared in California.

Though it was very unlikely that Tony was still himself, or that Gadreel would have stayed if he had taken him over, he still felt some disappointment when their knocking went unanswered. They didn’t give up straight away, though. They stayed long enough to draw attention from the resident of the apartment opposite.

An elderly woman opened her door and glared at them. “He’s not home, so you can quit banging on the door and go away.”

“Sorry to disturb you,” Sam said smoothly. “We were looking for Mr. Malone. We had a few questions for him.”

 “Who are you to be looking for him?” she asked suspiciously.

“We’re federal agents,” Sam said, presenting his badge for her to examine.

“Oh, I didn’t realize, agents,” she said, her face coloring. “I’m very sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Sam said. “We should have introduced ourselves sooner.”

“Is Tony in trouble?” she asked.

“No,” Sam said quickly. “We’re hoping to speak to him in regards to a case, that’s all. He’s not in any kind of trouble.”

She nodded sagely. “You’re here about the robbery, aren’t you?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. “Yes,” Dean said. “What can you tell us about it?”

“Not a lot,” she said. “I wasn’t there; of course you’ll know that already. I only know what they told me when they came looking for him. I told them, as I’ll tell you, that Tony’s a good, god-fearing man. He’d have had nothing to do with that trouble. He worked in that place for five years. Why would he suddenly take up and ruin the place? And why steal so little? If he wanted money, he’d have waited until the end of the day, am I right?”

“I’m sure you are,” Sam said. “Well, thank you for your help. We will report back that Mr. Malone wasn’t home.”

“If he comes back and you see him, please call us,” Dean said, holding out a business card to her. She took it and glanced it over, looking a little surprised.

“But don’t approach him,” Sam added. “I am sure he wouldn’t trouble you, god-fearing as he is, but we wouldn’t want him to be frightened away. We really do need to speak to him.”

“Of course, agent,” she said, clutching the card in both hands. “I’ll be sure to call you.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, locking eyes with Dean and nodding slightly. They were done there.

They said their farewells and then made their way out of the building and back to the car.

“Robbery?”  Dean said as he started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

Sam shrugged. “Maybe he wanted some cash to go on the run with. He must have seen enough in my head to know you don’t get far in this world without it.”

“Maybe,” Dean said in a musing tone, directing them along the quiet street. “Bar next?”

“Yeah. Might be a waste of time, but I’ve got a feeling there’s still something to know.”

“Me too,” Dean said. “Just don’t know what.”

By the time they got to the Antler’s Pub, it was past one and there was a good crowd of people inside, drinking and talking. Sam and Dean made their way to the bar and Sam took a backseat, letting Dean employ his usual charm with the pretty bartender as he introduced them and asked if there was a manager they could speak to.

While they waited for her to retrieve the owner for them, Sam looked around the bar, taking in the decorations that had given the place their name. There were many antlered trophies on the wall—stag, caribou and even a massive set from a moose.

A woman came from a door at the end of the bar and saw where Sam’s attention was. “Handsome, aren’t they.”

“Uh, sure,” Sam said.

“Evelyn Tranmere,” she introduced herself. “Owner and manager.”

“Agents Smith and Jones,” Dean said, holding out his badge.

“Ah, you’re here about Tony, aren’t you?” She sighed. “Bad business all round.”

“What can you tell us about what happened?” Sam asked.

“Not a lot,” she said. “No one was here when it happened. Tony was supposed to be setting up—stocking fridges and snacks—before opening for me. I’d let him in and then gone to the store for supplies. I have no idea what got into his head, but when I got back, the bar was trashed and he was nowhere to be seen. The cash in the register was gone, too, not that it amounted to much. The real kicker was the damage. He must have gone at the place with a baseball bat. The windows, the bottles behind the bar, hell, even the light bulbs were broken. I have no idea what got to him, he seemed fine, but something must have pissed him off, as the place was trashed and he was nowhere in sight. No one has seen him since either. Probably for the best. I don’t know that I could see him without trashing him.” She cut off suddenly and bit her lip. “Figuratively, I mean. I wouldn’t really hurt him, agents.”

Dean grinned. “We understand what you mean. It’s a terrible thing he’s done to you.”

“He’s cost me thousands,” she said. “The windows alone cost a fortune, and that’s nothing to the lost business. I tell ya, if you boys catch him, you’ll never need pay for another drink here.”

“We’ll do our best,” Sam said.

“Can I get you anything now?” she asked. “I know you can’t drink on duty, but I make a mean coffee.”

“Coffee would be great,” Dean said.

“You take a seat and I’ll bring some over,” she said.

They walked over to a table by the window and sat down, feeling eyes on them. The jukebox was playing though, and Sam thought it was safe to talk.

“Glass,” he said. “Didn’t Cas smash the light bulbs when you first met him?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Not sure what that was about, apart from showing off, but it’s definitely an angel marker. I think Tony was here when Gadreel came calling, and he rolled out the welcome mat for him.” 

Sam was pretty sure he was right. Gadreel had a vessel again.

A shadow fell over their table and Sam looked up with a smile and thanks on his lips only to scowl instead. It wasn’t Evelyn delivering their coffee, but Crowley and he was smiling wickedly.

“Budge up, Moose,” he said, shoving into Sam’s space.

He moved along so there was a seat free for Crowley, though he wasn’t exactly eager for his company. He thought it was better to go with it than risk Crowley making a scene and outing them as fakes. 

Crowley slid into the seat next to him and said, “What do you think of the décor, Moose? Is it making you uncomfortable?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “What do you want, Crowley?”

“A chat,” Crowley said. “Thought we should catch up.”

Dean sighed. “Fine. Say what you’ve got to say and leave.”

“There was a time when you wanted me around so much you chained me up.”

“Times change,” Dean said shortly. “What do you really want, Crowley?”

“Hang on a sec,” he said as Evelyn came over with their coffees and a look of confusion on her face.

“Well, who’s this lovely lady?” Crowley asked.

“This is Ms. Tranmere,” Sam said stiffly. “This is… Fergus Crowley. He’s an associate of ours.”

“Interpol, love,” Crowley said. “And you can call me Crowley. As you can tell from my name, my parents hated me.”

Evelyn laughed softly. “Very well, Crowley, can I get you anything?”

“Thank you, but no. I’m on duty and need to keep a clear head. I’ll just take one of these delicious smelling coffees and let you be on your way.”

She looked like she wanted to protest for a moment, but at Sam’s apologetic look, she nodded, set the coffees down and walked away.

“Like I’d take a proper drink in a place like this,” Crowley growled quietly. “Even the beer smells like turpentine.” He took a sip of Sam’s coffee and smiled. “This, on the other hand, isn’t bad.”

“What do you want, Crowley?” Dean asked again.

“First off, we need to get something out in the open,” he replied. “See the lumberjack over there with the expensive haircut? Angel.”

The man he was pointing quickly averted his eyes and took awkward sip on the bottle of beer in front of him.

“It’s not the angel that was in me, is it?” Sam asked intensely. 

“Nope. I’ve never seen this one before. Just need to be careful what we say as those formerly-flying monkeys have hearing like bats,” Crowley said.

“Okay,” Dean said. “How are things working out for you?”

“I’m not here to collect yet, don’t worry,” Crowley said.

Sam stiffened at the mention of the deal Dean had made for him. While it had been better than some things Crowley could have demanded, the fact they were set to support him taking out Abaddon worried him. He knew Crowley wouldn’t hesitate to throw the pair of them at her like chew toys if he thought it would serve him in some way.

“Unbunch your underoos, Moose. I said I’m not ready to collect. I just wanted to fill you in on what’s been going on. That minx Abaddon is in the air at the moment. No one has seen her for weeks. She’s working, though, building up a team to come after me with. I’m doing the same, which is hard since most demons think the fact I let myself be held prisoner by you two dumbasses means I’m not up to task. I’ve had to fire a few mouthy ones to prove my point, which I’m not complaining about, as holy fire is always beautiful to watch burning.”

“So, basically, you’ve got nothing to tell us that we actually need to know,” Sam said.

Crowley leered at him. “I’ve got one thing, actually, but I don’t know if I’ll bother now you two are being so unaccommodating.”

“You obviously want to tell us, or you wouldn’t be here,” Dean said. “So get it over with and leave us in peace.”

“Fine,” Crowley said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. “Obviously, you’re on the trail of the angel that stuffed Sam down deep like the last lucky dip prize, but I know something that could help your other big problem.”

Sam stiffened and reached for Crowley’s phone. He pulled it back though, and said, “No touching without invitation. It’s rude.” He tapped at the screen and held the phone against his chest. “It just so happened that I spotted a different pesky parakeet lately, and I think you might be looking for him, too.”

He turned the phone so they could see the screen and Sam sucked in a breath. “No!”

“Yep,” Crowley said cheerfully. “I don’t know where he is now, but I spotted him in New Orleans a week ago. I understand the little short-arse goes by the name Marv when he’s earthen, but you know him as something different.”

“Yes,” Dean said darkly. “Metatron.”

“That’s the one,” Crowley said, clicking his fingers. “I knew it was something suitably stupid. Mind you, I’ve yet to meet an angel yet that didn’t have a ridiculous name.”

“Really, Fergus?” Dean said scathingly. “You think you’ve got the right to talk about names?” 

“At least I’m not named for my _grandma_ ,” he replied, his eyes hard.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Sam cut across him. “Stick with what matters. Metatron is back on Earth?”

“Duh.” Crowley rolled his eyes. “Didn’t I just show you as much?”

“You saw him and didn’t think maybe you should do something about it? You’re the King of Hell. Surely you’re strong enough to take him out.”

“I _am_ king, and obviously I’m strong enough to take him out, but why would I bother? Maybe it’s slipped your mind, boys, but I’m a demon. The angels can flap around looking for him if they like, but I’m not bothered about him. He’s no threat to me and mine, so I live and let live.”

“He cast the angels out. He stole Castiel’s grace!” Sam snapped.

“Which obviously affected me. No, wait, it didn’t because I am king and angels are pissants. He’s your problem, not mine. I just figured you’d like the heads up. Call it me doing you a solid.”

“Thanks so much,” Dean said sarcastically.

“You’re welcome,” Crowley said cheerfully. “Now, I think that’s me for now. I’ll be in touch if anything changes on the Abaddon score. Make sure you do the same.”

Dean scowled at him, but Sam nodded. “We will on the proviso that you tell us if you see Metatron again.”

“Will do.” He drained the last of Sam’s coffee and disappeared.

Dean looked around quickly to see if anyone had noticed, but the only one paying them any attention was the angel across the room who was scowling. Dean raised his coffee cup to the angel in a toast and the angel turned away.

“What do you think?” Sam asked.

“I think our plates just took an extra heaping of crap,” Dean said. “Metatron wasn’t an immediate problem while he was flapping around upstairs, but now he’s back… who knows what the little shit is capable of doing next?”

“You think he can do worse than he already has?” Sam asked.

“Put it this way, I don’t want to find out.”


	20. Chapter 20

Dean laughed, exhilarated, as they tore though the traffic, weaving between cars, and the SUV following them shrunk back a few more car lengths.  

“Maybe slow down a little,” Sam suggested.

Dean pressed down harder on the gas in response.

“Dean, what do you think will happen if we get pulled over by the cops?”

“I think we’re going too fast for even them right now,” he said with a grin.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Sure, a car chase is just what we need.”

“This is a matter of pride, Sam. That feathered dick thinks he can follow us in the mom-mobile. I’m showing him how wrong he is. Besides, this is hilarious. We have a ‘67 Impala for crap’s sake!”

“He could be following us for a reason,” Sam said.

Dean scoffed. “Then he should have come said so in the bar, shouldn’t he. Nope. Brace yourself, we’re going for it.”

Sam sank deeper in his seat and sighed as Dean slammed his foot down on the gas and they tore away from the angel in its SUV. Sam secretly thought Dean was right—the angel was following them—but he was mildly curious about why.

Dean glanced into the rearview mirror and slapped the steering wheel triumphantly. “And that is one of the many reasons you don’t screw with the Winchesters! You end up eating dust.”

“Can we slow down now?” Sam asked.

Dean raised his eyes heavenward and eased his foot off the gas a little so their speed became less likely to turn them to jelly if they crashed.

Dean relaxed in his seat and asked, “So, why do you think he was trying to follow us?”

“You’re kidding, right? If you’d wanted to know, you could have pulled over and asked.”

“I could have, but it was a matter of pride for me and my baby. He thought he could take us on. Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”

Sam _had_ gotten a kick out of leaving the angel in the dust. It was fun to see one of those that had been so high and mighty attempting to chase them down with human means. He smiled slightly.

“I knew it,” Dean said happily. “You loved that just as much as I did.”

“Wonder what he wanted though.”

“One way to find out,” Dean said, reaching into his pocket and tossed Sam his phone. “Give Cas a call and see what he knows.”

Sam hit the second speed dial and tapped the speaker button. After only two rings, Castiel answered, “Dean? Are you okay?”

“We’re fine, Cas,” Dean said easily. “Sam’s here, too.”

“Hello, Sam,” he said.

“Hey, Cas. You okay?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered quickly. “Bartholomew is here, too. One moment.” There was rustle and then Castiel’s voice came back, slightly echoey, and Sam knew they were on speaker on his end, too.

“Sam, Dean,” Bartholomew’s formal voice said. “How can we help you?”

“Got a couple questions and some info for you,” Dean said.

“Are you talking about your meeting with the King of Hell?” Bartholomew asked.

“Uh. Yeah,” Sam said.

Dean cast him a look laden with meaning and said, “So the angel currently attempting—and failing—to follow us is one of yours, Bart.”

“Of course,” Bartholomew replied, superiority dripping from his tone. “At least I assume so. I just received a report from one of our field agents saying that in the course of his mission, he saw you both speaking with King of Hell in a public place. He also said that the demon disappeared in full view of ignorant humans.”

“And he’s trying to chase us down because…” Dean asked.

“I don’t know,” Bartholomew said. “Perhaps he wishes to speak to you.”

Or perhaps there was something more sinister going on, Sam thought. Like him trying to track them back to where they were living now.

“Yeah, perhaps,” Dean said his doubt obvious. “Afraid we lost him on the highway, though, so if he wants to talk to us again, he’ll need to learn to drive faster.”

“I will make sure he knows,” Bartholomew said mildly. “Now, I assume you aren’t calling to advise me on my agent’s lack of driving capabilities.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “If he heard what we were saying, you’ll know Metatron is back on earth and Gadreel has definitely taken his old vessel again.”

“Yes, quite an informative day for us all.”

“What’s the plan now, Cas?” Sam asked, intentionally addressing his friend rather than the superior angel, though it was Bartholomew that answered.

“We are going to step up our operations on the ground. We are confident that if we can apprehend Metatron, we can elicit the secret of how to reopen Heaven from him.”

Torture. Though the word went unspoken, they all knew what it meant when Bartholomew said elicit. Sam didn’t much care what they did to Metatron. He deserved to suffer for what he had done to Castiel—and the other angels he supposed—but he didn’t want to be a part of it, nor did he want Dean to be. Let the angels do their own dirty work for a change.

“Good,” Dean said savagely.

“What about Gadreel?” Sam asked. “Now that we know which vessel he’s in, we can find him, right?”

“I have no doubt you will,” Bartholomew said. “We have discussed the situation here, and we decided that to win this war, we need to direct our forces in the right direction. We are going to focus our attentions on Metatron, which leaves you free to focus on Gadreel.”

“I thought that Cas’ mission was Gadreel, too,” Sam said.

“It was. Now we have a greater task and need all assistance we can get, Castiel’s job is to be my second-in-command, and now that we’re going to war, he needs to be focused on the right thing. Only by focusing can we win and have us all restored to greatness. Though, when you have found Gadreel, Castiel will of course be able to come to you for the execution, if not otherwise occupied.”

“Of course,” Dean said scathingly.

Sam sagged in his seat.

“Okay. We better get to it then,” Dean said quickly, casting Sam a sideways glance. “I’d thank you for all your help so far, Bart, but since you haven’t actually done shit, I won’t bother. Cas, you take care of yourself and call when you can.”

“I will,” Castiel vowed, speaking for the first time since their conversation began.

Sam ended the call and dropped the phone back on the seat beside him. His fingertips ground into his temples and he groaned. They had banked on the angels’ help to find Gadreel. The resources they had at their command far outweighed those Sam and Dean had. Charlie was a genius, but there was no way to track an angel the way there was demons. They left no signs of their presence. How they were going to find Gadreel alone, he didn’t know.

“It’s not the end, Sam,” Dean said bracingly. “Sure, we haven’t got the angels, but we didn’t have them when we handled most of the stuff we have before. We’re no worse off than we usually are.”

  “I know,” Sam said tonelessly. “I do, but it would have been easier with a little heavenly help. Or any kind of help really. We don’t even have Cas anymore. Charlie and Kevin are awesome, but neither of them are going to be able to help us much with this.”

Dean looked thoughtful. “Okay. We don’t have the angels, but we have something else. Maybe, I hope.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Could you maybe be just a little more vague?”

“When you were missing, we went to Missouri for help. She said she had powerful connections in our world. Maybe those connections can help us now.”

“Any idea what they are?” Sam asked hopefully.

“None. Only one way to find out. How do you feel about a trip to Lawrence?”

Lawrence. Their old house. Stull Cemetery. There weren’t many places Sam wanted to go less, but if this was what it was going to take, it was where he was going to go.

“Sounds great,” he lied.

Dean gave him an understanding smile and brought the engine to life again. “Then let’s get gone.”

xXx

Missouri was waiting on her porch when Dean pulled them to a halt in front of her house. Sam and Dean climbed out and made their way along the path to her door.

As he took in the sight of the older woman, Sam realized she’d hardly changed outwardly at all. There were a few more grey hairs but that was the only difference he saw. She seemed just as vibrant as she had all those years ago when she’d threatened Dean with a spoon. She smiled widely as they approached but when Dean reached her, she crossed her arms over her chest and said, “You made me a promise, Dean Winchester—you said you wouldn’t deal with that demon!”

Dean stared into her eyes. “I know. I did what I had to do.”

She sighed. “I guess it could have been worse.”

“It was worth it,” Dean said, his eyes shifting to Sam.

She beamed. “It was.” She came to Sam and placed her hand on his arm. “It’s good to see you again, Sam. You were missed.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Missouri,” Sam said. “I’m sorry we left it so long.”

“As you should be.” She frowned at him, and Sam could almost feel her rooting through his thoughts. “Oh, child, I’m so sorry.”

 “For what?” Sam asked, confusion creasing his brow.

“I should have seen you in there. That cursed angel fooled me.”

“He fooled everyone,” Dean said bitterly.

“And you were… the whole time,” she said sadly.

Sam knew what she meant and he didn’t want to get into a conversation about how he’d been trapped back in the cage, so he redirected quickly. “It’s why we’re here,” he said. “We’re hunting him. Dean thought you might have someone that could help us.”

“Come on in,” she said.

Sam followed her into the house and to the lounge, Dean behind him. They took seats side by side on Missouri’s couch and she took a seat opposite them on the armchair.

Dean looked around the room and it seemed to Sam he was seeing something more than the heavy curtains and dark wood furniture. His expression was dark.

“So,” Missouri said, “You’re hunting the angel that was in you.”

“Among other things,” Dean replied.

She nodded thoughtfully. “I see. That’s quite the helping you boys have on your plates right now.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Abaddon, Metatron and now Gadreel.”

“And opening Heaven,” she added. “You’re working on that, too.”

Sam glanced at Dean. He had assumed after the phone call that they were going to leave Bartholomew and his team to work the Heaven problem while they focused on Gadreel, and Crowley on Abaddon. It seemed the most sensible division of labor to him.  Dean was nodding, though, indicating that they weren’t on the same page.

“We are?” Sam asked.

Dean looked at him and there was guilt in his eyes. “I think we have to, Sam,” he said. “Cas needs to get away from Bart and the only way he’s going to have a chance of doing that is if their mission is over—Metatron dead and Heaven open.”

Sam felt a wave of guilt. Other than to tie himself in knots about Castiel and what he had done for him, he hadn’t thought about the situation properly the way Dean obviously had. Sam certainly hadn’t thought about how they were going to get Castiel away from Bartholomew.

“And there is the veil to think of, too,” Missouri said. “We cannot free those trapped souls until Heaven is open to take them in again.”

For the first time Sam let himself think properly of the sheer task facing them. There was so much. How were they supposed to do it all without letting some people down in the process?

He felt Missouri’s eyes on him, and he looked up to see her nodding slowly, as if urging him to the right answer. And the answer was there. He knew what he had to do, but he didn’t want to accept it. Gadreel had him tortured by the two most imaginative angels in the universe. He would have left him there forever to suffer, leaving Dean to search for him endlessly. That was unforgivable.

“You don’t have to forgive, Sam,” Missouri said quietly.

He nodded. He didn’t need to forgive or forget; he had to let it go though. The mission that had been fuelling him since he got control back of his own body would have to be shelved for the sake of his friend and the world. He would have to leave Gadreel until they had dealt with their other problems.

He felt a lump form in his throat and he swallowed hard.

“Sam? You okay?” Dean probed.

“I have to let him go, don’t I?” Sam asked, looking at Missouri who nodded sympathetically.

“Who?” Dean asked, then he understood. “Gadreel? No way! No chance!”

“We’ve got no choice,” Sam said. “Cas needs us more, and we can’t split our focus. We have to let Crowley find Abaddon and call us in when it’s time, and we have to deal with Metatron. Bartholomew is right—the only way to find a way back to Heaven is through him. We have to save Cas now.”

“But what he did…” Dean said angrily. “He hurt us all, Cas included.”

“I know, and when Cas is free from Bartholomew, we’ll all work together to take Gadreel out, but he’s not the biggest problem now. Killing him is about revenge, not helping anyone else.” He looked to Missouri. “Am I right?”

“You are,” she said sadly. “I understand the need for revenge for you both, but there are more important things.”

Dean got to his feet and strode to the window, staring out on Missouri’s neat flowerbeds. “I can’t believe you want to let him get away with this,” he growled.

“I don’t,” Sam said. “And I won’t let him get away with anything. But he has to wait.”

Dean’s hands fisted. Sam felt the same way. He wanted to hurt, to kill, to punish Gadreel, but more than that he wanted Castiel back with them—free.

He turned to Missouri.  “These people you know, can they help us with Metatron?”

“Yes,” she said. “They can help you find him at least.”

“Who are they?” Dean asked in short bitten off words.

“I’ll show you,” Missouri said. She lifted her gaze from Dean’s back and said, “If you have a minute, Sam and Dean are here.”

She arrived with no sound. One moment there were three of them in the room, the next there was a fourth. Tessa.

Dean spun on his heel, his voice shocked as he said her name.

“Hello, Dean,” she said. “Sam.”

She looked terrible. Her skin was wan and her eyes mournful. She seemed to sag where she stood, instead of being tall and proud as she had been before.

“What happened to you?” Dean asked at once.

“Heaven was closed,” she said.

“Tessa, like all reapers, can hear the souls in the veil,” Missouri explained. “She can hear them…”

“Screaming,” Tessa finished.

Sam felt sick at the thought of all those souls, trapped, screaming for help, and he wondered how Tessa was still sane hearing it all as long as she had.

“I am so sorry,” Sam said.

Tessa looked at him, void of expression. “What do you have to be sorry for? You stopped before it could get even worse.”

“How could it have been worse?” Sam asked.

“Heaven is closed,” Tessa said. “All souls bound there are in the veil. The hell bound souls are in hell though. Had you finished the third trial you were working towards, _all_ souls would be trapped now. Can you imagine how many that would be?”

“I never thought…” Sam whispered.

“Why would you?” she asked. “Even if you had known, you would have done nothing differently, would you? It was only your brother’s pleading at the end that stopped you.”

“How do you know about that?” Sam asked.

“I was told by Death,” she said, “He was with you from the moment you started the first trial, the moment you were set on the path to die.” She looked at Dean. “He is not happy with you.”

Dean shrugged. “Don’t really care.”

“You should,” she said darkly.

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Sam spoke over him. “We need help, Tessa.”

“Yes, you are searching for the angel Metatron.”

“Can you help us find him?”

“Of course. We are eternal and many, and we can see angels even when they are concealing themselves. That angel cannot hide from us.”

“Good,” Sam said savagely.

“What do you intend to do when you find him?” she asked.

“Kill him,” Dean growled.

Tessa nodded. “That is what I hoped to hear, but you must do something for us if we’re to help you.”

“What?” Sam asked, though he thought he already knew.

“You must find the way to open Heaven from him. We cannot let him die until we know a way to free the souls from the veil.”

“We will,” Sam vowed. It was their intention all along anyway.

“Very well,” Tessa said, extending a hand to him. Sam shook it, feeling no hesitation.  

“Thank you, Tessa,” he started. “We’re… “ But then his phone rang, and trailed off. He pulled it from his pocket automatically and checked the caller ID then answered with a mild, “Charlie?”

“Oh, thank God,” Charlie said quickly. “Are you guys okay?”

“We’re fine. What’s wrong?”

“The panels are going nuts,” Charlie said. “They’re all lit up and there’s this noise, and Kevin said it’s like last time, when the angels fell, and—“

“Slow down,” Sam interrupted. “Where are you?”

“We’re in the bunker still.”

“Good,” Sam said. “Stay in there. Don’t open the door to anyone but us. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“Okay,” she said. “Be careful though, Sam. I think something really big is happening.”

“We’ll be okay,” Sam said. “See you real soon, Charlie.”


	21. Chapter 21

Charlie hit one last command on her laptop and leaned back in her chair. She rolled her neck, feeling the satisfying pops of tension leaving her after being bent over the computer for far too long. She glanced across the table at Kevin and saw that he was still absorbed in his work on the tablet. Beside him was a legal pad covered in small symbols and jotted notes and his cell phone. She glanced at the cell phone and saw that there was still around an hour left on the countdown timer.

She sighed. That was way too long to be sitting around doing nothing but watching Kevin work, and all her tasks were running themselves for the foreseeable future. She needed her partner in crime free to play. She knew he would never stop before his time was up without an actual emergency though, so she needed to improvise. Her hand edged across the table to the phone and she began to inch it towards her. If Kevin was as involved in what he was doing as she thought, she could trim down his work time a little and they could kick back and...

“Leave it alone, Charlie,” Kevin said without looking up.

Her hand pulled back to her side and she affected an innocent expression. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You are,” Kevin argued. “And you can’t.” He glanced at his phone and then her and said, “I still have fifty eight minutes before I can take a break.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Fifty eight minutes? There is such a thing as being too committed, Kev, and too anal.”

Kevin frowned at her and said, “Okay, first of all, I'm not anal, I’m organized, and second, when you’re saving the world, there is no such thing as too committed. This might hold the key for reopening Heaven. It might give us a way to track Gadreel. It might even have some kind of heavenly uber-weapon for Abaddon.”

Charlie heaved a sigh. He was partially right, it could hold all of those things, but it _was_ still possible to be too committed. “You need to take breaks,” she said. “This is a marathon, not a sprint.”

Kevin frowned. “You sound like Sam.”

“That’s because Sam is wise.”

“He is, but he doesn’t take his own advice. He’s gunning harder than any of us right now. I’m just doing my part.”

“You are, and your part is awesome, but taking a night off won’t hurt you.”

Kevin seemed to consider for a moment. Charlie waited, breath bated, for him to see the logic in her words.

“Thirty minutes,” he said eventually. “Give me another thirty minutes with the tablet and I’ll spend the rest of the evening doing whatever.”

Knowing it was the best deal she was going to get, Charlie nodded happily. “Okay. You do what you’ve got to do and I will get the snacks ready.” 

Kevin reached for the phone and reset it for thirty minutes while Charlie wandered towards the kitchen. She was passing though the war room when a humming noise started. It was like the sound of an old and abused computer coming to life.

“Charlie?” Kevin called. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she called back. “I didn’t touch anything.”

Just then, the bulbs of the map table began to light one by one and the control panel against the wall came to life. The buttons lit up and a large red light, like a cop car bulb, began to flash and click.  

Kevin skidded into the war room, his face pale and his features strained. “Not again!”

“What’s happening?” Charlie asked.

“This is what happened when the angels fell,” Kevin replied, his voice stressed.

“Well they can’t fall again.”

“No,” Kevin said darkly. “But demons can rise.”

“You think?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped. “I don’t know what’s happening other than it’s got to be big and bad.”

Charlie pushed her hair back and took a deep breath. “Okay. We’re safe in here as long as we don’t leave.”

“Yeah, but how safe are the others?” Kevin asked. “Sam and Dean and Castiel. They’re out there still.”  

Charlie ran back to the table and picked up her phone from where it sat beside the laptop. She dialed Sam’s number and waited for him to answer with her heart in her throat. 

“Charlie?” Sam said.

“Oh, thank God,” Charlie breathed, filling with relief at the sound of his voice. “Are you guys okay?”

“We’re fine,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“The panels are going nuts,” Charlie said. “They’re all lit up and there’s this noise, and Kevin said it’s like last time, when the angels fell, and—“

“Slow down,” Sam said forcefully. “Where are you?”

“We’re in the bunker still.”

“Good,” Sam said. “Stay in there. Don’t open the door to anyone but us. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“Okay,” she said. “Be careful though, Sam. I think something really big is happening.”

“We’ll be okay,” Sam said, his stressed tone designed to reassure no one. “See you real soon, Charlie.”

There was the sound of a disconnected call and Charlie slid her phone back into her pocket.

“What did they say?” Kevin asked.

“They’re coming,” she said. “We’ve got to stay in here.”

“Like we’d go anywhere else,” Kevin said with a strained laugh.

Charlie took a deep breath and tried to calm herself so she could think clearly. “Right. Okay. We’re not going anywhere, obviously, so we need to make sure we’re as protected as we can be in here.”

“Dungeon,” Kevin said. “It’s concealed. No one knows it’s there.”

“No one but us, Gadreel and the King of Hell. If it’s demons causing trouble, it could be Crowley, and if it’s angels, Gadreel. They could have told anyone what’s in here. No, we need to be more protected than just hiding.”

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Traps and sigils,” Charlie said. “You lay devil’s traps anywhere you can think of. I’ll set up angel banishing sigils.”

“You really think they’ll get in?” Kevin asked, his eyes wide.

“No. Of course not,” she said reassuringly.

“You’re a terrible liar, Charlie.”

She smiled sadly. “Maybe. So we need to be prepared, and doing something will help us not freak out.”

They ran through the halls to the storeroom. Charlie yanked open a cupboard and grabbed two spray cans of paint. She handed them to Kevin and said, “I know there’s already some laid down, but we should have more by the door and at the bottom of the stairs.” Her voice was calm and authoritative now, a stark contradiction to how she actually felt. “Do you remember what they look like?”

“I spent a year on the run, laying them every day,” Kevin said. “I remember.”

She jogged to her bedroom to the small weapons trove she kept there. Taking a silver flipknife she carried it back into the war room. The clicking of the light seemed to drill into her ears, making all other sounds foggy. Her heard was racing, too, agitating her, and when she cut across her palm to make the blood flow for the sigil, it seemed to flow too fast.

She could see Kevin at the top of the stairs, bent over as he painted in the trap, and she set to work drawing a sigil on the wall. Her hand stung, but in a muted way, as if the pain wasn’t truly a part of her. The adrenaline was coursing through her veins.

When the first was done, she moved to the other side of the room and drew in another. Worried thoughts came to her as she worked— _What were Sam and Dean doing? Were they close? Was Castiel okay? Was it angel or demons, or something new that they didn’t know about yet?_

That thought scared her. They were already facing so much. What else could be coming for them? Fear froze her.

“Charlie!”

She snapped back to herself to see Kevin leaning in close and clicking his fingers in her face. She drew a deep gasping breath and nodded.

“Yeah? I mean, I’m okay.”

“Are you done?” he asked.

Charlie looked at the half-finished sigil and shook her head. “Nearly.” She pumped her fist to make the blood flow and painted in the rest of the sigil. “I think that’s enough.”

“I think so, too,” Kevin said. “I’ve done half a dozen traps.” He hesitated. “What do we do now, Charlie?”

“I…” Charlie was about to admit that she didn’t know, but at that moment there was the sound of someone hammering on the door and Sam’s voice shouted, “It’s us! Let us in!”

“Thank God,” Kevin said, running for the door.

Charlie followed after him and was almost at the bottom of the stairs before Kevin yanked open the door.  

Kevin was talking before it was all the way open, but he cut off quickly when he saw who was on the threshold. “Thank God you’re back. We’ve laid—“

“Hello, Kevin,” a squat man said.

Charlie guessed who he was before Kevin breathed his name, as he’d been described to her before.

“Metatron!”

Kevin turned and ran for the stairs, but the small man grabbed his arm and dragged him back with one hand. Kevin struggled, but the angel was too strong.

Then, as if the nightmare could get no worse, another angel appeared. Charlie knew who this one was, even though he was in his new vessel, as she’d spent hours searching for his face: Gadreel.

Metatron’s greedy eyes roved the room and he said, “Get the tablets. We don’t need the girl.”

Gadreel nodded and started down the stairs toward Charlie. 

She spun on her heel and ran straight for the closest sigil. Pumping her fist, she brought it up to the wall, but just before she could slam her hand down, banishing the angels, Metatron and Kevin disappeared.

“No!” she cried out, even as she slapped her bloody hand down on the sigil, ripping Gadreel away from her.

For a moment, she stayed with her hand on the sigil, panting hard and trying to make sense of what had happened and how it could have gone so wrong. Then sense caught up to her. Gadreel was blasted back to his corner, but Metatron could come back any moment. She raced up the stairs and out of the door. “Sam! Dean!” she shouted, but there was no response. She looked up and down the road but there was no sign of them. They were either not there at all or had been taken with Kevin. She thought the former. Metatron might have wings, but she had faith in Sam and Dean’s abilities to kick his ass. One of the angels must have imitated Sam’s voice.  

She slammed the door closed. Pressing her back against it and swiping away the tears that were burning a path down her cheeks, she tried to make her mind work. What next? What did she have to do next?

The answer was quick to come—save Kevin. She didn’t know how though. He had been snatched by an angel; the only angel in existence with wings still. They could be anywhere. Even if they weren’t, she was no match for him. She had to do what she could.

The tablets!

She ran down the stairs and grabbed the angel tablet from the table. She’d never held it before. In fact she’d not seen anyone touch it other than Kevin, and she’d always felt that it would be a heady feeling to handle the actual Word of God. It felt like nothing, though, to pick up the cold stone and stuff it into the cloth bag Kevin kept it in with the demon tablet. She hugged them to her chest and tried to think. She needed somewhere safe for them. Somewhere the angels couldn’t go. But where would that be? The bunker was supposed to be the safest place in the world, and the angels had penetrated it.

She wished she wasn’t alone. She needed help, and her thoughts had always been easier to wrangle when she was able to vocalize them. She wished for Sam and Dean, Kevin or Castiel. Even Dorothy was better equipped to handle this situation than her. 

“Dorothy!” she breathed.

Knowing where she had to go, she rushed to the drawer in the liquor cabinet and yanked it open. In its wooden box was the key that Dorothy had used to return to Oz. She grabbed it up and hurried to closest door—the one that led to the dungeon. Dorothy had exited though the main door, but Charlie wasn’t risking that, and Dorothy had said the key would turn any door into an entrance to Oz. She pushed it into the lock, and though it looked far too large for the hole, it fit perfectly. Taking a deep breath, Charlie pushed it open and gasped as her eyes met the incredible sight of the yellow road and Emerald City.

She took a deep breath, and stepped though the door, the tablets clutched tightly against her chest.


	22. Chapter 22

Throughout the drive back to the bunker, Dean and Sam searched the skies for some sign of the impending doom that had brought the machinery to life in the bunker. There was nothing though. It seemed like a perfectly normal Thursday afternoon. That didn’t stop either of them worrying though. They both knew the worst things could happen and the majority of the world could remain unaware.

A few people leaned on their horns as Dean weaved the Impala through the traffic, but Dean paid them no attention. His issues were bigger than someone cutting him off on the highway. Sam didn’t lecture either, which confirmed to Dean that he was just as worried about Charlie and Kevin.

When they reached the outskirts of Lebanon, Sam leaned forward in his seat as if it could get him home faster, and when Dean slammed the car to a halt outside the bunker, he threw himself out and ran at the door, not seeming to see the sigils scrawled over the steel door.

“Sam, wait!” Dean shouted.

Sam turned back to him, confusion on his face, and Dean hurried to catch up with him. “Look,” he said, tapping the closest sigil.

Sam followed his gaze and the little color he’d had drained from his face. “What the hell is that?” he asked.

“Looks Enochian, which means angels.”

Dean hurried to the trunk and unlocked it. He grabbed two angel blades stowed there and slapped one into Sam’s hand. Sam’s fingers curled around the hilt and he looked impatiently at Dean who nodded and took the bunker key out of his pocket. Sam reached for it, but Dean pulled it back and walked to the door. There was no knowing what was happening on the other side of that door. He was going to find out first.

He unlocked the door and rushed in, blade held out in front of him, and then stopped dead. There was a new devil’s trap painted on the floor just inside the door, and when he peered over the balustrade, he saw there were more on the floor below. There were also banishing sigils painted on the walls.

Sam pushed past him and rushed down the stairs shouting for Charlie and Kevin. Dean unfroze and hurried after him, adding his own voice to Sam’s. “Charlie! Kevin!”

Dean’s heart raced in his chest as he waited for a response that didn’t come.

“Look!” Sam said, pointing at one of the sigils on the wall. “It’s been used!” There was a bloody handprint in the middle.

Dean cursed loudly as he stared at the handprint. Whose had it been—Charlie’s or Kevin’s—and where were they now? Surely if one of them had used the sigil, it meant one or both of them were safe. But where were they now?

“Gadreel!” Sam spat. “Had to be. Who else knows about this place?”

“Why would he come here though?” Dean asked. “It makes no sense.”

“Does it matter?” Sam snapped. “We have to find them!” He set off running through the halls, shouting for Charlie and Kevin.

Dean took a deep breath and tried to calm his thoughts so he could do what needed to be done—what needed to be done? His pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Charlie’s number. A recorded message told him the phone number was unavailable. Cursing, he dialed Kevin’s. It rang at once, both on the phone and in the next room. He raced into the library, scared of what he would find, and saw Kevin’s phone on the table beside Kevin’s notepad and an empty coffee mug.

He hung up and pressed his fingers to his temples hard, trying to make sense of his thoughts.

“Dean!” Sam shouted back along the hall to him. “Look at this!”

Dean ran to the source of the shout and found Sam standing outside the dungeon door.

“Are they in there?” he asked hopefully, and then he saw the key poking out of the lock. “But that’s…”

“Oz,” Sam said.  

“Did someone go there or come here?” he wondered aloud.

“I don’t know,” Sam said, “but I know which I’m hoping for.”

“What do we do though?” Dean asked. “If they’re hiding in there, they’re probably better off than here, but how do we find out if they really are? We can’t leave them.”

Sam closed his eyes for a moment, his brow furrowing with concentration. “One of us has to go in,” he said slowly. “I’ll go.”

“There’s a war raging there, Sammy,” Dean said.

“There’s a war here, too,” Sam replied.

Dean raked a hand over his face. They couldn’t both go in case Charlie and Kevin _weren’t_ there as they would be abandoning their friends. But if they were there, they needed to be found and brought back, and Sam and Dean needed to know what had happened while they were gone. It was choice between which was the greater danger to which he would let Sam face. He didn’t know which it was though.

Sam held a bunched fist in front of him. “Let’s do this.”

“Sammy, we’re not playing rock-paper-scissors to decide who goes to Oz,” Dean said, marveling at the strangeness of the statement.

“We’ve got to do something,” Sam said tersely. “They need us.”

“Fine,” Dean said. “I’ll go through.” He figured the danger was about equal either way and at least staying in this world was familiar. Sam would know how to handle himself, and he could call on Castiel for help. Dean would have the angel blade and he was pretty sure that’d kill flying monkeys as well as anything else.

“Ready?” Sam asked, reaching for the key.

“Call Cas,” Dean ordered. “Get him and as many angels as he can get here, too. Find out what those sigils outside are for.”

“I will,” Sam promised. “And you be careful. Find them if they’re there, and get back as soon as you can.”

“You know it,” Dean said, reaching for the key. It turned stiffly in the lock and the door clicked open.

When Dorothy had gone back to Oz, the light he’d seen spilling through the door was bright and yellow. It was obviously night there now, and Dean could make out little more than a dozen feet of paved road and hills on either side. He was about to step in when he heard someone shouting, “Dean! Sam!”

Dean and Sam lurched away from the door automatically and stared, stunned as Charlie burst through the opening. As soon as she was through, the door slammed closed behind her.

“Charlie, what happened?” Sam asked at once. “What were you doing in Oz?”

“Hiding the tablets,” she replied in a weak voice. 

“Where’s Kevin?” Dean asked.

Charlie pushed her hair back from her face and Dean saw her red-rimmed eyes and the silver streaks on her cheeks. “They took him,” she moaned.

Dean sucked in a shaky breath. “Angels?” he asked.

“Gadreel,” she said, and Sam cursed. “And Metatron.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Metatron!”

Charlie nodded, a fresh tear slipping down her cheek.

Dean wrapped an arm around Charlie’s shoulders and walked with her back to the library. He pulled out a seat for her and she sat down. Sam brought a glass with a generous measure of whiskey to her and she took a sip and grimaced. “Disgusting,” she said and then took another sip.

Dean pulled a seat around to sit opposite her and leaned forward. “What happened, Charlie?”

Charlie breathed in shakily and said, “We were just talking. Kev was working on the angel tablet and I was going to get snacks when the machines started up. We laid traps and I set up the sigils, and…” She grimaced. “They used your voice, Sam.”

“They did what?”

“One of them, Metatron or Gadreel, used your voice when they knocked at the door—just like the voicemail.”

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance and they both shrugged. Dean guessed Sam had no more idea what she was talking about than he did.  

“We were scared,” she said. “And we didn’t know. Kevin opened the door and Metatron grabbed him at once, then he ordered Gadreel to get the tablets. I tried to stop him. I used the sigil, but Metatron and Kevin disappeared just before I touched it. They’re gone. Gadreel got blasted away, but I don’t know where Metatron took Kevin.” She took another sip of whiskey, grimaced, and said, “We have to find him.”

“I know,” Dean said. “We will. He’ll be fine.” He looked up at Sam and unspoken communication passed between them—how were they supposed to find Metatron when an entire army of angels had failed?

“I’ll call Cas,” Sam said. He took his phone from his pocket and dialed, walking away from them and saying, “Cas, it’s me. We’ve got a problem…”

Charlie fixed her eyes on Dean and said, “How are we going to find him, Dean?”

“Same way we do anything, by fighting hard,” Dean said. “We’ll get him back, Charlie; he’s family.”

“But the angels have been looking…” she started.

“They’re just not as good as us,” Dean said.

She smiled sadly at his attempt at reassurance.

Sam came back to them after a moment, tucking his phone back in his pocket. “Cas is on his way,” he said. “He’ll be here as soon as he can.”

“Good,” Dean said. They needed all the help they could get. He didn’t even much care if Bartholomew came along for the ride. The more people they had looking for Kevin the better.

Charlie was wiping at her wet face. Sam looked sympathetically at her and said, “It’s going to be okay, Charlie,” he said. “We’ll find him. It’s not the same as before. The angels couldn’t find him before because he had the full access to Heaven that none of them did. If he’s keeping Kevin with him, he’ll have to stay on Earth.”

“Anything could be happening to him,” Charlie moaned.

“Kevin’s tough,” Sam said firmly. “He’s going to get through this; we know he’s been through worse.”

“He has,” Charlie agreed, seeming to take heart. “He’s been the King of Hell’s prisoner before, and he made it out.”

“Crowley!” Sam gasped. “He saw Metatron that time. Maybe he’s seen him again.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, his eyes widening. “Damn.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed. After a moment Crowley’s sarcastic voice answered, “Squirrel, what can I do for you this time?”

“Kevin’s been taken.” Dean said.

“You really need to learn to take better care of your things,” Crowley said. “What exactly do you want me to do about it?”

“He’s been taken by Metatron,” Dean said. “Have you seen him?”

“Nope,” Crowley said cheerfully. “Am I right in assuming you want my help?”

“Yes,” Dean sighed.

“You know what this means, right?” Crowley asked gleefully.

It was going to take some kind of deal. He looked at Charlie’s tearstained face and Sam’s tight expression and he knew there was really no choice. They had to save Kevin. “Yes,” Dean said. “We know.”

“Good,” Crowley said savagely. “I’ll be right there.”

xXx

Though the bunker was vast and the war room large, it felt like the walls were closing in around Dean. Crowley was leaning against the control panel, a glass of whiskey in his hand, poured from his own hipflask. Castiel stood at the head of the table, and Charlie sat leaning against Sam with his arm around her shoulders. Dean was pacing back and forth in front of them.

“You’re going to wear a hole in that nice floor,” Crowley said snidely.

Dean stopped and glared at him. Crowley smiled back at him, obviously enjoying the tension of the room.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Place like this needs caring for. Appreciate what you got, Squirrel.”

“Shut up, Crowley,” Sam growled.

“See, it’s stuff like this that makes it hard for me to want to help you,” Crowley said. “You talk to me like I’m some kind of disobedient pet. I’ll remind you that I am no longer your prisoner, thank you very much.”

“Help us?” Dean said, ignoring the rest of his statement. “You haven’t done a thing to help us yet!”

“That’s because you haven’t sweetened the pot.”

“Because _you_ haven’t told us what you want!” Dean snapped.

Crowley sighed. “That’s the thing, see. I don’t know what I want. Apart from freedom to do whatever I want without Winchester interference, and I know you won’t make that deal, I’m all out of wants.”

“Then why are you here?” Castiel asked bitterly.

Crowley grinned down at him. “Because you people are hilarious when you’re suffering. It’s like my own little telenovela. I could watch you forever.”

“Sure, that’s it,” Sam said. “It’s nothing to do with the fact you actually have nothing to offer us. You can’t find Metatron any more than we can unless he walks right past you on the street. You might be King now, but when it comes to this, you’re just as lost as the rest of us.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Is that right, Winchester? I’ll have you know that I—“ He cut off abruptly as the phone on the table began to ring.

“That’s Kevin’s,” Sam said. “Who’s calling him? Everyone he knows is here.”

Dean snatched it up and answered, “Hello?”

“Dean Winchester,” a familiar and detested voice said. “Good to talk to you again.”

“Metatron!” Dean spat and the attention of the room focused on him as he put the call on speaker and set the phone down on the table again. “Where is Kevin?”

“Safe, for now,” Metatron said. “But not forever unless you give me what I want.”

“Don’t do it, Dean!” Kevin shouted in the background. “Don’t give him anything.” There was a meaty thud and a groan of pain.

“You bastard,” Dean growled. “I swear if you hurt him…”

“You’ll what?” Metatron asked. “Stamp your feet and threaten harm we both know you can’t deliver? No, Dean, you’re powerless in this situation. The best you can hope for is that I deliver on this deal like a gentleman.”

“What’s the deal?” Sam asked.

“Sam!” Metatron said cheerfully. “You’re there, too. How are you doing after your sojourn with Gadreel? I hear he put you through the wringer.”

“What’s the deal?” Dean asked as Sam’s color rose.

“Simple exchange,” Metatron said. “I will give you Kevin back and you will give me the tablets.”

“Why do you want them?” Sam asked.

“I want to have them bronzed for posterity,” Metatron said sarcastically. “They’re some of my best work.” He laughed. “What does it matter? They’re useless to you without the prophet to read them. It’s a good deal. You get your friend back, and I get my tablets.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look of indecision.

“A straight swap?” Sam asked. “Kevin for the tablets. You won’t try to trick us?”

“I will not,” Metatron said. “I am an angel of my word; as long as you don’t try to trick me, of course. It will need to be a straight swap. One Winchester must come with the tablets and I will send one angel with Kevin.”

“Gadreel?” Sam mouthed at Dean who nodded. It had to be.

“Where do you want to meet?” Dean asked.

“Hmm, let’s go back to one of your glory moments,” Metatron said. “Stull cemetery.”

Sam sucked in a sharp breath. Dean glanced at him and saw his horror quickly replaced by a mask of calm.

“I’ll be there,” Dean said, ignoring Castiel’s sharp look.

“Good,” Metatron said. “I knew you’d see the sense of the situation. Besides, it’s not like you really have a choice, is it?”

There was a rustle on the line and then the call went dead.  

Dean tucked Kevin’s phone in his pocket beside his own and sighed heavily. There was no choice, but it made him sick that they were making another deal with another enemy.

“Dean, you cannot do this!” Castiel said.

Dean turned to look at him. “We have no choice. It’s the only way we’re getting Kev back.”

“You have no idea what use he will put those tablets to. Think, Dean,” he said passionately. “Metatron wrote the tablets. He knows what’s on them, so he has no use of them to read. He wants them for another reason.”

Dean thought he was probably right, but that didn’t mean they could refuse. It was Kevin’s freedom that hung on the decision. Possibly his life. How could they ignore a chance to get him back?

“What choice do we have?” Sam asked. “It’s Kevin.”

“The other angels and I have dedicated ourselves to finding that creature,” Castiel said. “We cannot allow him any leeway for gaining strength.”

“I know you have, Cas,” Sam said. “And I know why, but we can’t leave Kevin with him.”

“There is another way. There has to be,” Castiel said.

Crowley cleared his throat then. “I hate to interrupt, as I really was enjoying the angst, but I’m off. Doesn’t seem like you need any help from me now anyway. I’ve got things to do and demons to deal with. I’ll see you around.” He set down his glass and walked to the door.

“You’re leaving?” Dean asked.

“Yep, you don’t need my help, even if that was possible, right, Sam” He climbed the stairs and paused by the front door. “I’ll be seeing you.” He pulled open the door and disappeared through it, letting it clang closed behind him.

Dean checked his watch pointedly and said, “Okay, Charlie, where exactly are the tablets stowed?”

“Dorothy’s got them,” Charlie said, getting to her shaky feet. “I’ll get them back.”

“You cannot do this!” Castiel said angrily.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said. “I really am. I know how much you’ve put into finding Metatron, but we have to do this. There really isn’t any other choice.”

Castiel looked furious and hurt. Dean tried to decipher the second emotion; surely Castiel didn’t care more about finding Metatron than saving Kevin. At that moment there was a hammering on the door, and Castiel stiffened.

“Cas?” Dean said. “What’s—“ Castiel was already in motion. He was rushing up the stairs to the door and reaching for the lock.

“Cas, wait!” Sam shouted. “We don’t know who it is!”

Castiel ignored him. He turned the lock and quickly pulled the door open. Dean’s heart lurched as he saw who was on the threshold. Crowley stood with a beaten and bloodied angel hanging off of him with an arm draped around his shoulders.  

“No so useless after all, am I?” Crowley sneered.

Sam lurched forward, the angel’s name ripping from him in a roar of rage. “Gadreel!”


	23. Chapter 23

_“I’m sorry,” Dean said. “I really am. I know how much you’ve put into finding Metatron, but we have to do this._ There really isn’t any other choice _.”_

Castiel’s anger surged. They were being infuriating. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Kevin to be saved, but to give Metatron the tablets was surely to hand him the world and every life in it. Why would he want the tablets if not to give himself some new advantage? At the moment, Metatron was just an angel—the only angel with his wings intact, but an angel nonetheless. He could be defeated if he could just be found and trapped. He could reveal the truth about Castiel’s grace. Castiel was sure there was some still in the world. Sometimes he could almost feel it calling to him. If Metatron got his hands on the tablets, there would be nothing to bargain with.

Just then, Castiel heard something from right outside the bunker. “That’s it, angel pet,you just hang there, nice and useless.”Castiel stiffened as someone, surely Crowley, hammered on the door.

“Cas? What’s—”Dean started, but Castiel didn’t pause to answer. He had a feeling something wonderful was waiting on the other side of that door—Metatron. He rushed up the stairs to the door.

“Cas, wait!” Sam shouted. “We don’t know who it is!”

Castiel knew enough though. There was a possibility Metatron himself was on the other side of that door.

He yanked open the door and swallowed his disappointment. Crowley stood supporting Gadreel who looked as if he had been beaten. One eye was only half open and there was blood on his face.

“No so useless after all, am I?” Crowley sneered.

Castiel heard a roar of rage from the room below, “Gadreel!” He rushed down the stairs to catch Sam and hold him back. Even though Castiel’s strength was an angel’s and Sam’s only human, he was surprised by how difficult it was to hold the hunter back. Sam’s anger-fuelled power was immense.

“Let go of me, Castiel,” Sam growled, struggling to get past him.

Dean came up the stairs and grabbed Sam from behind, speaking calmingly and softly in his ear. “Not yet, Sam. I know what you want to do, and we will, but we can use him first. You hear me?”

Sam’s struggles slowed and then ceased. Castiel held him a moment longer, and then, when Sam sagged, he passed him into Dean’s hold.

“You with me?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Dean patted his chest and released him.

Sam drew a deep breath and then fixed his eyes on Gadreel with absolute hatred.

“So, where do you want him?” Crowley asked.

Sam and Dean looked at each other and then Sam said, “Dungeon.”

Castiel walked back up the stairs and took Gadreel’s other arm and pulled it over his shoulders. With Gadreel hanging between them, his feet dragging, Castiel and Crowley got him down the stairs and through the halls into the file room that concealed the dungeon. Dean pulled the shelves apart to allow them access.

“Ah, cell sweet prison cell,” Crowley said.

“Just get him in the chair,” Sam said shortly.

Crowley stopped short of the devil’s trap and Dean stepped forward to help Cas manhandle the angel into the chair. Sam quickly snapped the thick iron collar around his neck while Dean cuffed his wrists to the chair arms. When he was suitably bound, they stepped back and joined Crowley outside the circle.

Crowley smiled smugly. “Have to say, it’s really satisfying seeing someone else in the hot seat this time.”

No one answered him. Castiel’s attention was fixed on the silent angel in the chair. He looked more alert now than he had when he’d arrived, and hateful. He fixed his eyes on Sam and stared with a strange expression—it was almost fond.

“What do you think you’re looking at?” Sam asked.

“My favorite vessel,” Gadreel said with a leer.

Sam lurched forward and struck out a fist, catching Gadreel’s jaw. His head rocked up and he grunted.

“Sammy,” Dean said carefully.

Sam panted hard as he massaged his knuckles. “I know.”

“Perhaps we can take a moment to speak in private,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded and tugged on Sam’s arm. “Come on. He’s not going anywhere.”

Sam allowed himself to be led out of the room; Crowley followed after them, whistling cheerfully. Castiel paused by the door and glared at Gadreel. “We will come back and when we do, you will suffer. I think it’s better that you speak freely before that, don’t you?”

Gadreel returned the glare. “I think you are blind to fact if you think you can make me talk.”

Castiel smiled cruelly. “I think _you_ are blind if you think Dean and Sam will allow you the choice.”

He walked out of the room and through to the library where the others were gathered and Crowley was explaining his capture of the angel.

“Figured it had to be a trap to get one of you _and_ the tablets back, so I took a chance. Found the bastard lurking around the gravestones in Stull.”

“And Kevin?” Charlie asked hopefully. 

Crowley shook his head and looked at her with something like sympathy. “Sorry, Red, he was nowhere there.”

“He couldn’t have been hidden?” she asked. “We should go back and check.”

“He was nowhere within a mile,” Crowley said. “Little prophets give off a kind of vibe—resonating they call it. Without anything interfering with my power—like those lovely chains you had me in—I’d be able to feel him if he was anywhere in the area. I didn’t even feel a flicker.”

Charlie rubbed a hand over her face, looking forlorn. Dean wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “We’re going to find him, Charlie.”

Charlie nodded and sniffed.

Dean turned to Sam. “Okay. Gadreel. I know you want him dead, Sam—“

“Are you telling me you don’t?” Sam cut in, giving Dean a hard look.

“No,” Dean said. “I want him dead just as much as you. But we’ve got to play this smart. He’s got to know where Metatron and Kevin are. If we get that out of him, we can save both Kevin and Cas.” He turned to Castiel. “Your grace. If there is any left, he’ll be the only one that knows, right?”

Castiel nodded. It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that they had seemed to forget that only a short while ago, but he kept quiet. They remembered now and that was what mattered.

“So we get it out of him,” Dean said. “We have the angel blades.” He locked eyes with Sam. “I can do it alone if you need me to?”

“No,” Sam said quickly. “I want to do it, too.”

“Just don’t kill him, okay?”

Sam grimaced. “I won’t. Yet.” He grabbed the angel blades from the shelf where they were stowed and handed one to Dean. “Ready?”

Dean nodded. “More than.”

Sam walked away towards the dungeon and Dean followed.

xXx

When Castiel was with Bartholomew at their base of operations, he felt less than he was. He was constantly under Bartholomew’s gaze and power. He hated it. He missed his friends. He missed his freedom.

Bartholomew made a show of how good he was to Castiel when Sam and Dean were there, but the rest of the time Castiel felt like an insignificant being to all the angels around him. His mistakes were frequently thrown at him in snide reminders and comments. And there were the deaths. Daily meetings were held and the field agents’ reports were picked over. Too many times they mentioned angels that had been ‘recruited’ by foul means or fair, and other times there were the names of deceased and dishonored angels—almost all of them names Castiel knew, voices he had heard on angel radio, and sometimes friends.

Castiel hated it. He wished more than anything that he could leave, but to do so would be to break the bond he had made with Bartholomew for the grace that had saved Sam’s life and gave the Winchesters the freedom to deal with Gadreel. Had he not been certain his betrayal would cost the lives of himself and all those he cared about, he would have fled long ago. Bartholomew would not allow him or his friends to live if he embarrassed him by leaving. There was always relish in his voice when he announced a dishonored deceased, as if he was pleased that death had come for someone that dared refuse him. No amount of pretended affection for Castiel would make Bartholomew spare his life.

He was so glad to be away from Bartholomew and back among his friends, even though their situation was dire.

“Cas, you okay?” Dean asked, pulling Castiel from his thoughts.

“Yes, fine,” he replied quickly.

“Sure? Because if you need a break, that’s okay, right, Sam?”

Sam didn’t answer. He was concentrating on his task of drawing a line of blood on Gadreel’s bare chest and a cry from the angel. Castiel thought he was unaware of Castiel’s presence. Perhaps he did not even see Dean or Crowley there, too. He was so focused on hurting the angel that anything could have happened around him and he would have been oblivious.

“Where is Metatron?” Sam asked Gadreel tonelessly; he had asked the question many times. 

“I will never tell you,” Gadreel said in a rasping voice.

“You will,” Sam said.

“He won’t if you keep pussyfooting around,” Crowley said from his place by the door. “C’mon, Moose, go for the eyelids. You know you want to.”

Sam ignored him.

“We need him alive, Crowley,” Dean said.

“You don’t need eyelids to live,” Crowley argued. “I’ve tried it myself a few times recently, and it works a treat.”

“He doesn’t have it in him,” Gadreel said, his voice weak but smug. “He was never the torturer, always the tortured, isn’t that right? I have been tortured by Heaven’s most creative angels. You are a pathetic human.”

Sam dug the tip of the blade in Gadreel’s shoulder and the angel cried out.

From a distance, Castiel heard someone sob. It was Charlie, alone in the library.

“I will come right back,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded but Sam didn’t even turn.

Castiel walked back into the library where he found Charlie sitting hunched over the table with a pad of notes in Kevin’s script in front of her. 

“Charlie,” he said tentatively.

She started and looked guilty as she wiped the tears from her face. “Hey, Cas.”

Castiel wasn’t accustomed to much physical contact, but at the evidence of her sadness, he opened his arms to her. She stood quickly and threw herself into his embrace, burying her face in his shoulder and beginning to cry again. Castiel soothed her as best as he could with soft spoken words and gentle pats on her back.

She slowly choked herself to calm and pulled back. “I’m sorry,” she said.

There was a shout of rage and a cry of pain from the dungeon and she flinched. Castiel understood then that it wasn’t just Kevin’s capture that was upsetting her. It was what was happening in the dungeon.

“It is necessary,” he said neutrally. 

“I know, I do, it’s just…” She drew a shaky breath. “That’s my family in there, doing that.”

“Gadreel deserves it.”

“He does, but…” She heaved a sigh and went back to her chair. “I know about Alastair and Hell, I know Dean tortured people, but to hear him doing it and reading about it are different.”

Castiel had seen it before twice. The first time, when he dove into Hell to retrieve Dean, he had seen Dean presiding over some poor soul, tearing into it and drawing pleasure from his actions. And then when Castiel had stolen him away and used him to get the information from Alastair, when he thought the demons were killing angels when it had really been the work of Uriel, he had seen Dean’s talent at the craft, and he knew that was a point of shame for his friend. 

“It’s not Dean,” he said regretfully. “It’s Sam hurting Gadreel.”

Charlie shuddered. “Sam! I’ve never seen him as angry as when Crowley brought Gadreel, but I never imagined Sam doing that.”

“He has suffered greatly at the hands of that angel,” Castiel said. “And he has much knowledge to draw on in part because of that.”

She wiped at her face again. “Is it working? Is he talking yet?”

“Nope,” a voice said, coming along the hall. Crowley appeared. “The little shit isn’t saying a word.”

“What are we going to do then?” Charlie asked, her eyes imploring Castiel.

“Don’t fret, Red,” Crowley said. “I’ve got an idea.” He walked away into the war room and Castiel heard his footsteps on the stairs and then the creak and clang of the door as he left.

“What does he mean?” Charlie asked.

“I don’t know,” Castiel answered. “But I hope it works.”

xXx

Castiel stood at the back of the room, watching Crowley as he set the metal contraption on Gadreel’s head. He was whistling through his teeth, seeming perfectly content.

“And this is what you did to Alfie?” Dean asked.

“Yep,” Crowley said happily. “Worked a treat, too. Broke open his factory settings as easy as cracking an egg.”

“And making him crazy and murderous so he tried to kill Cas,” Sam pointed out.

“I did?” Crowley asked. “Didn’t realize I was that good.” He glanced at Castiel. “My apologies, Castiel,” he murmured not sounding sorry at all.

Castiel forced himself to remain still and not react. Samandriel had been killed on Naomi’s orders when he had been under her controlling influence. He had done nothing to deserve his end.

“Anyway,” Crowley said. “It obviously worked _then_. It will again.“ He set a cloth case down on the table and flipped it open. There were a dozen metal probes each in a separate sleeve. “Shall we?” he asked Gadreel.

“This will not work,” Gadreel said. “I will not break.”

Crowley grinned at him. “I truly cannot wait to prove you wrong.” He approached Gadreel with a probe and threaded it through a hole in the metal contraption. He paused for a moment, seeming to be enjoying the anticipation, and then slowly pushed the probe into Gadreel’s temple.

The angel howled in pain.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Crowley said. “Some subject participation.” He pushed the probe in a little deeper and said, “Now where’s that little runt Metatron?”

“I will not tell you,” Gadreel groaned.

Crowley leered. “I was kinda hoping you’d say that. I would hate to have my fun cut short already.”

Slowly, methodically, Crowley pierced Gadreel with five other probes, twisting them in to various depths. The angel cried out each time. Castiel wondered how Charlie was faring with the noise, but he couldn’t leave the room to check. He felt he needed to be there with Sam and Dean, who were watching the scene side by side in contemplative silence.

An hour passed of Crowley asking for Metatron’s location, driving the probes in deeper with each question, until with one twist, Gadreel answered with something other than a refusal.

“Where is Metatron?” Crowley asked.

“Metatron is the Scribe. The keeper of the Word,” Gadreel said in dull toned Enochian.

Crowley and Castiel exchanged a glance.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Crowley said smugly.

“What’s he saying?” Dean asked.

“Metatron is the Scribe. The keeper of the Word,” Castiel repeated the words in English.

Dean’s eyes widened. “This is it,” he said excitedly. “Keep going, Crowley.”

Crowley twisted the probe again, driving it in so deep there was barely an inch of the long probe left outside.

Gadreel cried out louder than ever. “No! Not that!”

Castiel frowned. “Not what?”

“Don’t make me!” Gadreel shouted. “Please, don’t make me see!”

Crowley laughed harshly. “By Jove I think we’ve got it.”

“Got what?” Sam asked.

“I think we reached the jackpot,” Crowleysaid with another small twist of the probe. “What are you scared to see, angel pet?”

“I am Gadreel. I am Guardian of the Garden,” he said.

As Castiel translated the words for Sam and Dean, Sam stepped forward. “What is this?”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve reached memory,” Crowley said. “I could be wrong but…” he flicked the tip of the probe and Gadreel cried out, his eyes squeezing shut, “Thaddeus, no, I beg you!”

“Yes,” Castiel said quickly. “That’s memory. Thaddeus is one of the torturers in Heaven’s jail.”

“Stop,” Gadreel pleaded. “I beg you.”

“Where’s Metatron?” Sam asked harshly. “Tell us and we’ll stop.”

Gadreel’s eyes cracked open and he said in a whisper. “Will you?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “Tell us where Metatron is and we’ll stop.”

Apparently for motivation, Crowley flicked the tip of the probe again, making Gadreel yell.

“Where is he?” Sam asked, looming over the angel.

“Santa Fe,” Gadreel moaned. “There is a hotel there. He has taken it over.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look laden with meaning.

“Anything else they need to know?” Crowley asked. 

“He is not alone,” Gadreel said. “He has more angels than me on his side.”

“Is there anything else?” Castiel asked.

“No,” Gadreel said. “Now, please, get these out of me.”

Crowley looked at Sam and received a nod in return. With obvious enjoyment at the pain it was causing Gadreel, Crowley yanked the probes out of his head one by one, leaving the deepest for last. Lifting the contraption from his head, he said. “That’s me done.”

“That’s all of us done,” Sam said, reaching for the angel blade on the table.

“What?” Gadreel sputtered. “You said you would stop!”

“He said we’d stop with the memories,” Dean said. “No one said you’d make it out alive.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “Not sure if you’re interested, but I’ve got something a little special.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old, black gun. Castiel recognized it as the gun he himself had been shot with. “Angel blade bullets,” Crowley said happily. He held it out but Sam shook his head.

“Thanks, but I’m happy with this,” he said, lifting the blade.

“Hands on kinda man,” Crowley said. “I can respect that, Moose.”

Sam stepped forward and pressed the tip of the blade off-center of Gadreel’s chest. “Anything to say?” he asked.

“I will not beg for my life,” Gadreel said scathingly.

“Good. Because I wouldn’t listen,” Sam replied.

Dean placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder and said softly, to his brother only, “Go on, Sammy. End it.

Sam thrust the blade into Gadreel’s chest, right into his heart. Bright white light spilled from Gadreel’s eyes and mouth, and Castiel saw the shadows of ruined wings on the wall.

As Sam pulled back the bloodied blade, he drew a deep breath and sighed. “It’s done.”

“That part is,” Dean said. “Now we kill Metatron.”


	24. Chapter 24

Dean pulled the car to a stop in the almost empty parking lot, beside the large black SUV, and said quietly, “Are you all ready for this?”

There were murmurs of assent from Charlie and Castiel in the back seat and Sam nodded beside him. 

“Here we go then,” Dean said.

They climbed out of the car and made for the small group standing under a streetlight. Crowley smiled smugly at their approach and Bartholomew fixed his eyes on Castiel, a strange expression on his face. The only one seemingly aware of the gravity of the situation was Tessa; she looked solemn.

At a pointed look from Bartholomew, Castiel walked to stand at his side, and it felt to Dean like it was drawing a divide between them, that the few feet of space between them was a mile. As soon as they’d gotten Kevin back and taken care of Metatron, he was going to get the truth out of Castiel about what the real deal with Bartholomew was. He was sure it was more than just what was happening to the angels that refused Bartholomew that was changing him. It was as if Bartholomew was holding something else over him. Though, he supposed that when Metatron was dealt with, there was no reason for Castiel to stay with the other angels at all. He could come home and be with them all again.

Dean moved so Charlie was bracketed between him and Sam, and he received a grateful smile in return.

“Why have you summoned us here, to this place of human… filth?” Bartholomew asked, peering around the dirty parking lot. “Castiel?”

“Gadreel is dead,” Sam said brutally.

Bartholomew raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure?” he asked Castiel.

Castiel nodded. “Yes. Sam killed him.”

“I thank you,” Bartholomew said to Sam. “You have done all angels a great service. We owe you a debt.”

Sam didn’t speak but stared stolidly back at him.

“There’s more,” Castiel said. “The Winchesters have found the location of Metatron.”

Crowley coughed. “Who did you say, Castiel?”

“The Winchesters and Crowley,” Castiel amended. “Together they extracted the information before Gadreel was killed.”

Crowley snorted. “Together.”

“Does it matter?” Charlie snapped. “Point is, we know where Metatron is, which means we know where Kevin is.”

Dean stepped a little closer so his arm brushed Charlie’s. He didn’t want to comfort her openly in front of Bartholomew as it would make her look weak to him—and that was one thing Charlie wasn’t. She was worried about her friend and possibly scared for the fight that was to come, but that was because she loved. The people most important to her were going to be in danger, and—if Dean couldn’t persuade her otherwise—herself, too. This was hardly Dean’s first time taking down something like this, but he was nervous. So much rode on them being the ones that came out on top.

“Where is he?” Bartholomew asked intensely.

“Here in New Mexico,” Dean said. “There’s a hotel he’s got history with.”

“Where?”

“We’ll get you there, don’t worry,” Dean said. “But first we want to hammer some details out.”

Bartholomew nodded impatiently. “Yes. Fine. What do you need?”

“Kevin,” Sam said, glancing at Tessa. “We know you’re all about getting Heaven open, but Kevin is our top priority. We’re going into this for Heaven and Metatron, but most of all Kevin; he’s our family. You have to do the same. You will do _nothing_ to jeopardize us getting him back safe in your hurry to get at Metatron. Okay?”

Bartholomew agreed at once. “Of course. We want the prophet safe, too."

“Tessa?” Sam pressed.

“You do realize you’re asking me prioritize one human soul over the millions that are trapped in the veil?”

“Yes,” Sam said.

She looked annoyed. “That is quite the selfish demand.”

“You reapers don’t love, do you?” Charlie said.

Tessa frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“Because if you did, you’d understand why we’re asking for this.”

Tessa nodded slowly. “Perhaps. Okay. I will not jeopardize Kevin’s life. I will protect it if I can even, on the proviso that you do _everything_ in your power to apprehend Metatron so we can get the truth of Heaven from him.”

“Done,” Sam said.

“I am trusting your family’s reputation, Sam Winchester,” she said.

“We all are,” Bartholomew added. 

“Good,” Dean said. “Now, we think we have something that will make Metatron talk, but we need him trapped to do that. If he sees us coming, he’s going to flap off.” He cast Crowley an annoyed look. “We had an idea, but our asset isn’t feeling helpful anymore.” They had planned to have Crowley teleport into the hotel and hold Metatron until they could get him in a circle of holy fire; however, Crowley had said he was done for the day. His exact words were, _“I am done getting my hands dirty for you two ingrates.”_

“Then why are you here, demon?” Bartholomew asked.

“Thought I’d drop the kids off at daycare and stick around for the shits and giggles of seeing them fight,” Crowley said lightly.  “It’s always fun to see when they’re not fighting, you know, me.”

“I can deal with Metatron,” Tessa said. “I can trap him without him even realizing I am there.”

“How?” Charlie asked.

“I will stop time,” Tessa said simply.

“Second problem,” Dean said. “According to Gadreel, Metatron has other angels with him. We’re probably going to have to fight our way through to him.”

“We can deal with that,” Bartholomew said. “I have many angels at my command, and they will aid us. I just need them to get here.”

“I can help you there,” Tessa said. “If you tell your angels to gather at your base, I and my fellows can retrieve them and bring them to the location.”

Bartholomew nodded and turned away, bringing his phone to his ear, and Tessa closed her eyes and looked concentrated.

Sam glanced down at Charlie, and though Dean knew what he was going to say and what her response would be, he didn’t stop Sam as he had a little hope she would take the escape.

“Look, Charlie,” Sam started, but she cut him off.

“I know what you’re going to say, and no. I am not sitting it out. I can handle this.”

“We know,” Sam said quickly. “It’s just things might get messy and…”

“And you want to protect me,” she said. “I know. I love you, too, Sam, both of you.” She turned to Dean. “And I love Kevin, so no, I am not sitting it out. This is my fight, too.”

Dean nodded. “Okay. You’re right.”

“Good,” she said, satisfied, straightening her shoulders. “I’m ready.”

xXx

Being moved under another’s influence was uncomfortable. If not for the situation they were in, rushing to fight and rescue a friend, Castiel would have been humiliated, too. He could feel grumbles of the other angels around him, and he was sure his name was in their minds. Had it not been for his mistake, they would have had their own wings, whole and proud, to transport them.

Castiel didn’t have long to dwell on it though, as he heard a shout from an unfamiliar voice and someone cried out, “We are under attack! Protect the Scribe!”  

Castiel drew his blade and braced himself and turned to his friends. “Find Metatron!” he ordered.

Dean and Sam were each holding an angel blade in their hands, and Charlie was armed with Crowley’s gun. She looked pale and scared but also determined. Castiel was proud of her courage.

“Winches—!” a voice growled, and an angel rushed toward them. Then he stopped. In the instant before Castiel felt the reaper’s influence wash over him and freeze him in time, too, he saw the angel’s foot raised from the ground to take a step and the half-formed word on his open mouth. And then Castiel froze, too.

“…ters,” the voice completed the word as they snapped back to themselves, and Castiel knew that the reaper Tessa had done her part—hopefully successfully. Metatron should be trapped now.

He didn’t have more than an instant to think of it though, as the angel that had called the Winchester’s name came rushing at them. Castiel raised his blade and prepared to fight.

His first thrust was blocked and the angel jabbed forward with his own. Castiel stepped back out of its range.

“So weak,” the angel taunted. “What happened to the Great Castiel that waged wars and killed thousands?”

Castiel felt a surge of anger at the taunt, and with that anger came a rush of power. He didn’t look, but he thought he could feel the gaze of other angels on him. Perhaps they were waiting for his defeat, the end of the pathetic former soldier of God, Castiel. He would not give it. He was done being the butt of jokes, Bartholomew’s toady as they called him behind their hands. He _was_ a soldier of God, and he was going to show it.

He surged forward, his blade extended, and the tip caught the angel in the chest. It pulled back before too much damage could be done, but Castiel saw the bright light pouring from the wound, and he knew he had done enough. He pressed his advantage, backing the injured angel into a wall. When the angel’s back hit the wood paneling, Castiel leered towards him. “You ask where Castiel is. I am here, and I am going to end you.”

“Brother, please…” the angel pleaded.

“You are not my brother,” Castiel snarled. “Brother means something very different to me. It means family.”

He swept the blade deep across the angel’s throat, drawing a gush of blood and light. The angel’s eyes blazed and Castiel turned away, disinterested. He looked around and saw that Sam, Dean and Charlie were gone.

Castiel breathed a sigh of relief and searched for his next victim. There were plenty to choose from. Metatron had amassed a large number of fighters for his cause. Castiel saw Berieah being set upon by two and he rushed to her aid. He dispatched one of the angels attacking her with a quick stab, and moved on to the next.

He had dealt with another three angels before he realized, as he searched for a new opponent, that he was tired. Angels did not tire—at least not angels with their own grace. He pushed aside his worry and launched himself at an angel that was leering at him from halfway across the room. That was when he heard the shout from up the stairs, “Shut your mouth!” Worry surging through him, he quickly made the killing blow, shoving his blade through the angel’s throat, and ran for the stairs—toward his family.

xXx

Sam watched, awed, as Castiel threw himself into the fight. He had never seen his friend like this before. He was a murderous machine.

“Come on,” Dean said, yanking his arm. “Metatron!”

The name worked to snap Sam out of his shock. He grabbed Charlie’s hand to keep them from being separated and, checking to make sure Dean was with him, he ran between the fighting angels and up the stairs. As he reached the top of the stairs, he saw Crowley facing down a tall angel, both with blades in their hands. He wasn’t surprised the demon had stayed for the fight. He’d thought he would be unable to resist in the first place. Sam stopped for a moment to look down over the balcony at the fighting angels, seeing Castiel advancing on a new opponent. Satisfied his friend was okay, Sam made for the hall and Metatron’s room from before.

They didn’t pause at the door. Dean thrust it open and raced in, Sam following and Charlie bringing up the rear.

Sam had half expected the room to be the same maze of books as before, but it wasn’t. The floor had been cleared of the stacks. There was a large polished dark wood desk under the window, and the books had been relocated to shelves all around the walls. To the side of the desk was a circle of holy fire, and standing in the middle was Metatron. Tessa stood just outside the flames, staring at him neutrally.

Sam took it all in within a moment of entering the room before his eyes cast around for a sign of their friend. He saw him sitting in the corner in a high-backed leather chair. He looked a little battered, his right eye was bruising and his lip split, but he grinned as he caught sight of them, and said, “Took you long enough.”

“Kevin!” Charlie ran at him and threw herself into his lap, dropping the gun in the process. Dean bent and picked it up carefully. 

Kevin laughed breathlessly. “Okay, Charlie, air becoming an issue,” he said. 

“Oops.” Charlie pulled back and perched herself on the arm of his chair, her hand resting over his shoulders.

Sam absorbed the relief of seeing Kevin there and relatively unharmed and then he turned to Metatron. In the months since he’d seen him last, he’d forgotten the details of the angel. Metatron had become so much more in their minds—a threat and enemy that had to be faced—and Sam had forgotten what a puny little man he really was. His short stature and weak features did not lend themselves to intimidation. He looked pathetic with the reflected flames rippling over his face.

“Winchesters,” he said. “I wondered what had kept you.”

“Stopped to take in the view,” Dean said idly. “Nice place you got here.”

“I think so,” Metatron said easily. “I’ve grown quite attached.”

“Obviously,” Sam said. “Explains why you were dumb enough to come back here when we knew about it.”

“Yes,” Metatron said indulgently. “You knew, but you didn’t realize, did you? You spent all that time looking for me, and you didn’t think to look here. Admittedly, I wasn’t _always_ here. I was enjoying Heaven much of the time. But here I am now.”

“Yes,” Sam said brutally. “Here you are, trapped like a bug.”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you,” Metatron said. “You were trapped inside yourself with Gadreel running the controls, weren’t you? Where is he by the way?”

“Dead,” Dean snarled.

Metatron sighed. “I guessed as much. Never mind. He served his purpose. He told me all I needed to know.” He leered at Sam. “He told me all about you, Sam Winchester, and your life—your loves. He was a little bitter after what your brother did to him—kicking him out of his nice vessel—so he had a little fun. Jessica Moore for instance.”

“Shut your mouth!” Sam bellowed, shock and hatred ripping through him. “You don’t talk about her.”

“Oh, but I do,” Metatron said gleefully. “The things Gadreel did to her… It was art.”

Dean put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, and Sam felt some of the fury seeping out of him at the show of reassurance. He took a deep breath and nodded.

The door burst open again then, and Castiel rushed inside, panting and pale.

“Well, well, Castiel, how have you…” Metatron’s eyes widened. “Grace? How?”

“A friend gave it to me,” Castiel said.

Metatron shook his head. “Whoever gave that to you was no friend. You have been sentenced to death in a painful and protracted way. Just look at you.”

Sam looked at his friend, taking in his pallor and quick breaths. Angels were _not_ supposed to look like that. They were supposed to be beyond illness or weariness. Castiel had said the borrowed grace might kill him, but Sam hadn’t really believed it would happen until then.

“You are burning through it quickly, aren’t you?” Metatron asked. “You can feel it.”

Castiel shook his head. “I feel nothing.”

“Where’s Cas’ grace?” Sam asked, his hands fisted to keep them from shaking.

“Gone,” Metatron said. “I used it all on the spell.”

“You’re lying,” Sam said. “Cas can feel it.”

Metatron sighed. “Okay. Maybe I was lying a little. There is a smidgen left, just a trace, and that’s been freed on the wind.”

“No,” Castiel said. “If it was on the earth, it would find me.”

“I didn’t say earth’s wind, Castiel,” Metatron said.

“Heaven?” Castiel breathed.

Metatron smiled smugly. “Yes, imagine the task it would be trying to find it, an impossible task. You’re doomed Castiel.”

 Sam swallowed hard and pushed down his worry. They would deal with Castiel’s grace later. They’d find a way to save him. They had other promises to keep now.

“Heaven,” he said. “How do we open it again?”

“You don’t,” Metatron said with a small shrug. “It’s not possible. There is no reversing that spell.”

Castiel looked stricken and Tessa’s hands fisted. “You lie!” she said.

“No,” Metatron said. “Why do you think your little prophet hasn’t found anything on the tablet? It only works one way.”

Dean raised Crowley’s gun and aimed it at Metatron. “Try that again,” he growled. “How do we open Heaven?”

Metatron laughed. “You won’t shoot me.”

Dean lowered the gun slightly and pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced Metatron’s left foot. He howled with pain and fell to the floor, barely missing the edge of the fiery trap.

“How do you open Heaven?” Dean asked again.

Metatron panted with pain. “There’s no way to open it. There’s only the portal.”

“Portal?” Castiel asked.

 The door swung open then and Bartholomew came in, another angel ahead of him with Bartholomew’s blade pressed into the small of his back.

“Thank you, Metatron,” he said, “But we know all we need to know now. Ezra here has been most helpful.”

“Ezra,” Metatron sighed. “You pathetic creature, what did you tell them?”

“Everything I know,” Ezra whimpered. “I am sorry, Sir, but he was going to kill me.”

“Still am,” Bartholomew said. There was a blaze of light as he thrust his blade through Ezra’s back so far that the tip tore through the front of Ezra’s suit. “I know, for example, that there _is_ a way home with a spell,” he went on as if there had been no interruption. “I just don’t know the ingredients. I know it is something that—to use your words, Metatron—no reaper, angel or human would sacrifice.”

Metatron looked down at the body of his former subordinate and then back up at Bartholomew. “I will tell you nothing.”

“Oh, you will,” Bartholomew said. “We know how the portal works, so we will be able to get you to jail quite easily. I am sure, given enough time, you will be willing to give up the information we so ardently desire.” He smiled slightly. “In short, Metatron, you’re going to give me everything I want.”

Sickened, Sam watched him roll Ezra’s body with a foot until it rolled into the flames and broke the line of fire. Before Metatron could move, Bartholomew stepped over Ezra and bent, pinning Metatron’s arms behind his back.

“Tessa,” he said. “Would you oblige us by taking us two miles due north? There is apparently a children’s playground where the portal is currently located.”

Tessa nodded, glanced at Sam and Dean, said, “I will be in touch,” and then she, Bartholomew and Metatron were gone.

For a moment, there was silence in the room. Sam didn’t know about the others, but he was trying to wrap his mind around what had happened.

“What now?” Kevin asked.

“We go home,” Dean said with a smile. “Cas, you coming? I think your deal with Bart counts as honored now. ”

Castiel nodded. “I would like that. I would like that very much.”

Dean grinned at him. “Awesome, because we’ve still got work to do.”


	25. Chapter 25

Sam and Dean were leaning against the wall outside the dungeon, the door partly open. Sam was listening hard for any sound of Charlie and Kevin’s approach, and when Dean spoke, it made him start.

“Okay, honestly, you ever think about sticking a toe inside Oz just to say you’ve done it?” he asked.

Sam frowned. “Do you?”

“No,” Dean said quickly. “Well, maybe, a little. Not much though.”  

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, yeah. I do.”

“Go ahead,” Sam said, gesturing him inside with an expansive wave of his arm.

Dean opened the door a little wider. He raised his foot over the threshold and slowly planted it on the yellow road. His face split into a huge smile and he took another step forward so he was fully in Oz.

Sam smiled fondly as Dean took a couple steps farther away from him. Sam spotted two figures in the distance, and called, “The kids are coming.”

Dean practically leapt back through the door. He smoothed down his hair and then leaned casually against the wall opposite Sam.

“How’d it feel?” Sam asked.

“Cool,” Dean said. “It was like standing in the height of summer in there.”

“And the Yellow Brick Road?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You know I don’t care about that stuff.”

“Sure you don’t,” Sam said, stepping back a little as Charlie and Kevin approached.

Kevin came through first, grinning fit to bust, and Charlie followed. In Kevin’s hands was the cloth pouch with the tablets in it.

“That was _awesome_!” Kevin said enthusiastically. He turned to Dean. “What did you think?”

“Don’t know what you mean,” Dean said in a low voice, turning and walking away.

Kevin looked confused but Charlie laughed. “He does know we saw him in there, right?”

“Oh, he knows,” Sam said. “He just wishes you hadn’t.”

Sam closed the door and took the key from the lock. “Here, Charlie, you keep a hold of this,” he said, handing it to her.

Charlie looked pleased as she took it and stowed it in her pocket.

They walked back through the hall to the library together where they found Dean sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in front of him. Castiel was standing at the head with a tray of cups and a large coffeepot. “How did you enjoy Oz, Kevin?” he asked.

“It was _awesome_!” Kevin said, taking the proffered coffee with a word of thanks and setting the tablets down. “I walked on the actual Yellow Brick Road, I met _the_ Dorothy, and I saw a flying monkey. It was chained up, but still cool, right?”

“Very cool,” Charlie agreed. “How did you like it, Dean?”

Castiel frowned. “Did you go too, Dean?”

“I went in,” Dean said shortly. “Was about to start searching for these two since they’d been in there forever.”

Sam disguised his laugh as a cough and Dean scowled at him.

“How’s Dorothy doing?” Sam asked.

“She’s good,” Charlie said brightly. “Says hey to everyone. The War is over now, so she’s doing clean up and setting up a new society. Light work, you know.” She winked.

“Speaking of light work,” Dean said. “”Anything on Metatron buzzing around on Angel Radio?”

Castiel shook his head. “Nothing. I know I would hear if they elicited the secret of the spell from him, but otherwise I assume they’re keeping things close to their chests. There are still angels that have not allied themselves with Bartholomew since Metatron’s defeat.”

“Which means it’s down to you, Kev,” Dean said.

With Metatron’s revealed words about a sacrifice the beings would not make, they had something for Kevin to look for on the tablet. They were hoping that would be the key to finding the right part of the tablet for the spell.

“Reaper. Angel. Human,” Kevin said with a nod. “I’ll find it.”

“Awesome. The rest of us will be working the grace problem.”

Sam nodded his agreement. He and Dean had a tentative plan in place for Castiel, but they were hoping there would be some other solution as Castiel was not going to be pleased with what they’d come up with together.

“The grace problem?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah, Cas, your little fading grace problem,” Dean said. “We figure there might be something we can do to tick you over until we can find what’s left of yours.”

Castiel had a strange expression on his face. It was both fond and sympathetic. “There is nothing, Dean.” He glanced around the table at them all. “I appreciate that you want to help, but it would be a pointless task. I am an angel, I know all there is to know about grace, and I know there is nothing that can replace or support it other than more grace.”

Disappointment flooded through Sam. He’d hoped they would be able to find _something_ else.

“More grace.” Dean nodded. “Fine. We can make that work.”

Castiel frowned. “Grace cannot be cultivated or grown. Only God Himself can create it. There is no way we can make more for me.”

“Not talking about making it, Cas. I’m talking about taking it.”

“No!” Castiel said, horrified. “You cannot.”

“Can. Will.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “You just watch me.”

Sam nodded. He wasn’t thrilled at the idea of constantly stealing grace, but they were angels, and this was Castiel. He was more than worth any other angel that walked the earth. It wasn’t like they even had to kill the angels. Castiel had lost his grace and lived as a human. The other angels could suck it up and live human, too. It was that or lose Castiel, and Sam knew which choice he would rather live with.

“Cas,” Sam said. “We don’t have a choice. It will kill you to let this grace burn out.”

“It will kill them to lose their grace!” Castiel said harshly.

“You lost yours and survived,” Sam pointed out.  

“And I suffered,” Castiel said. “You cannot understand how it felt to lose everything I had always known to be me and become something new. And I was more experienced with humanity than any other angel has ever been. I was uniquely capable of living as a human, and I nearly didn’t. These other angels you’re planning to strip of their true selves will surely die.”

“We’ll take care of them,” Sam said. “We won’t let them die. We’ll make sure they’re okay.”

Castiel shook his head brutally. “You will not because we are not doing this. There will be no more grace.”

“But you’ll die,” Charlie said in a small voice.

Castiel gave her a gentle smile. “Yes.”

“You can’t think we’re going to let that happen,” Dean said angrily.

“I think I am giving you no choice,” Castiel replied.

Dean leapt to his feet, his chair crashing back to the floor. “No!” he shouted. “I am done with this.” He pointed accusingly at Sam. “You and him, disappearing, dying, leaving us. You are not doing it again, do you understand?”

“Dean,” Castiel said gently.

“No!” Dean shouted. “I am not listening to this shit.”

“Yes, you are,” Castiel said firmly. “You will listen or I will leave now and take the temptation from your hands.”

“Don’t think you can threaten me, Castiel,” Dean growled.

“This is not a threat. It is a promise. There are things we need to discuss and decide and I would like you to be present for the conversation. I would like to make arrangements.”

Dean paled. “No. The hell with this. You plan your funeral or whatever, I am not sticking around!”

He strode over to the liquor cabinet, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and walked out of the room, the bottle swinging in his hand, without a backward glance.

Sam watched him go, and while he understood the desire to escape the conversation and blot it out, he made himself keep his seat instead of following.

“Should I…” Charlie ventured.

“No,” Sam said. “He needs space.”

Charlie looked guiltily relieved.  

Sam drew a deep breath and tried to force down his selfish denial and concentrate on what Castiel needed. It was hard as he wanted to rant and rage just as much as Dean. There was a difference between them though; Sam had recently been in Castiel’s position. After they’d drawn the grace, when he was dying, he’d had the choice to let someone save him and risk pain for others, and he’d chosen not to allow that to happen. In effect, it had happened anyway, as Castiel had made his deal with Bartholomew, and he’d obviously suffered there. It hadn’t destroyed lives though the way it would to save Castiel.

“Sam,” Castiel said gently. “I would like to talk things out if you can.”

Sam nodded, wiped a hand over his face, and said, “Yeah, Cas. Okay. What do you need?”

“I would like to stay,” Castiel said.

For a moment, Sam was confused, hopeful, but then Castiel went on and destroyed the glimmer of light in the darkness.

“Here. For whatever is left of my life, I would like to be here with you all.”

Sam heard someone sniffle, but he didn’t look to see which of his friends it was. He thought if he saw Charlie or Kevin’s tears, he would lose the stranglehold he had on his own.  

“Of course,” he said hoarsely. “It’s your home, Cas. We’re your family.”

“It is and you are,” Castiel agreed. “That is why. I want to be with you all.”

Sam nodded and swallowed hard. “What else do you need?”

“After… when I am gone, I would like to be returned to Heaven. There is a place there I wish to be laid to rest.”

“Sure,” Sam said.

“I will make arrangements with Bartholomew for passage,” he said. “All you would need to do is contact him when it’s time. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course,” Sam said.

Castiel smiled slightly. The small gesture nearly stole Sam’s control.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “You and Dean have been better to me than I deserve.”

“No,” Sam said quickly. “You deserve more. I’m sorry, Cas; I wish there was another way.”

“There isn’t,” Castiel said. He drew a breath and turned to Charlie and Kevin where they sat, Charlie tucked under Kevin’s arm. “Thank you, both of you. I have been very happy to call you friends.”

“Family,” Charlie corrected in a weak voice, tears painting her face.

Castiel nodded. “Yes, family.” He turned back to Sam. “I am going to Heaven now. I need to see Bartholomew, and there is one more thing to do.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “You want me to give you a ride there?”

“No, thank you. I think I will enjoy the drive.”

Castiel stood and, after nodding to Kevin and Charlie and patting Sam’s shoulder, he walked out of the room. After a moment, Sam heard the creak and slam of the door opening and closing behind him.

He stood slowly, wiping a hand over his face, and walked to the liquor cabinet. He opened the cupboard door and took out one of the bottles of whiskey they stored there, then carried it away.

“Where are you going?” Kevin called after him in a cracked voice.

“I need a drink,” Sam said hoarsely.

xXx

He found Dean in the garage, sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the wheel of the Impala. In his hand was the bottle of whiskey. Sam noticed that there was a lot less in there than there had been when Dean left the library.

As he entered, Dean glared up at him. “What do you want?”

“A drink,” Sam answered, holding up his own, fresh bottle.

Dean slapped the floor. “Well come on in then.”

Sam sat down and uncapped his bottle. He took a swig from the neck and gasped as it hit his throat. It didn’t stop him taking another swig though. He felt the warmth of the liquor moving through him, and he tipped his head back against the side of the car.

“Where’s Castiel?” Dean asked,

“Heaven,” Sam said.

Dean gasped and Sam looked at him to see his eyes were wide and almost afraid. “He left?”

“Just for a little while. He said he needed to talk to Bartholomew and…”—he sucked in a shaky breath—“arrange things.

Dean cursed and took a swig from the bottle. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Me either,” Sam said miserably.

“If he’d just let us…”

“He won’t,” Sam said. “He’s determined.

Dean groaned. “What the hell is it with you two? Have you got no fight at all?”

Sam winced at the accusation and took a fortifying swig before saying, “It’s not about fighting, Dean. It’s about protecting others. Don’t you remember when you made the deal? You didn’t want me trying to break it because it could kill me? Cas feels the same way. The angels may be dicks to us, but to him they’re different. They’re like family.”

“Fucked up family,” Dean grunted.

“Yeah, but whose isn’t?”

“Got me there,” Dean sighed. “But I tell you, Sammy, if it was a choice between every other angel in existence and Cas, I know which one I’d choose.”

“Me too,” Sam admitted. “But it’s not about who we like most now. It’s about letting Castiel decide. He doesn’t want to live what he feels would be a cursed life. And I get that. I felt the same when I was in the hospital—both times. I didn’t want a life at the expense of someone else’s.”

“You’re both idiots.”

“Maybe.”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know how to do this. How are we supposed to let him just… die?”

Sam felt a burn behind his eyes. He blinked and wiped a hand over his face quickly. “I think we just do,” he said. “We have to remember all the times he’s sacrificed for and saved us, and let him have what he wants this time.”

“By dying?” Dean asked in a hoarse voice.

Sam sniffed and nodded. “Yeah. We have to let him go.”

“And if we can’t?”

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Sam said sadly.

xXx

Castiel sat on a bench at the edge of the park, watching Jessica Moore setting out her picnic. Her movements were graceful and quick. She was in a hurry. The reason became apparent after only a few moments; Sam Winchester, younger by many years than the person Castiel knew and different in many other ways, was loping across the grass towards her, his smile wide. 

“Hey, baby,” Jessica said, smiling up at him. “You hungry?”

“Starving,” Sam said, dropping down beside her. “But you didn’t have to do all this.”

“I had an hour free,” she said modestly.

Sam’s eyes scanned the plates of baked foods and desserts. “An hour, huh?”

“Maybe it took me a little longer than that,” she said.

“Will you still make me picnics when we’re old and grey?” Sam asked.

“No,” Jessica said easily, though clearly pleased at the thought of their shared future. “I’ll be too busy looking after the fifteen grandchildren,” she said.

“Fifteen!” Sam gasped in mock horror.

“Well, with five children we’re going to have a lot of grandbabies.”

“How about we compromise?” Sam asked. “Five dogs and three children?”

Jessica laughed. “We’ll see.”

“Yes, we will,” Sam said.  He leaned over to her and their lips met in a chaste kiss.

As he leaned back, Castiel saw Sam’s face was serene in a way Castiel had never seen in life. They were, both of them, perfectly happy together, and Jessica Moore showed no ill effects of whatever it was Gadreel might have done to her.

Almost reluctantly—it was so good to see Sam so happy—Castiel turned away from the couple and walked to the park gate, knowing it would return him to the Axis Mundi.

His next port of call was the heaven of a devout investment banker whose eternity was a skyscraper of opulent offices, one of which Bartholomew had commandeered for his own. He knocked and waited for Bartholomew’s summons before entering. Bartholomew and Berieah were bent over something at the desk, and they looked up at Castiel.

Berieah smiled slightly at him, surprising him as she’d never been particularly friendly before. Bartholomew’s face split into a smile. “Castiel, it’s good to see you again. What can I do for you?”

“I wished to enquire after Metatron,” Castiel said.

Bartholomew’s smile faded. “He is proving difficult. He has fallen silent, and nothing we do seems able to make him talk.” 

“You are trying though?” Castiel asked.

“Of course.”

“If I may offer some advice…” Castiel started.

Bartholomew nodded. “Go ahead.”

“When the Winchesters were holding Crowley prisoner, they used solitary confinement and lack of stimulation to torture him. I don’t suppose Metatron will mind the solitary part of it, as he lived like that for millennia, but perhaps the lack of stimulation will break him.”

Bartholomew tapped his chin. “That’s an intriguing idea. We may have to try it. It’s of the utmost importance that we break him somehow. He holds the key to the spell to open Heaven.”

“Kevin Tran is also working on that,” Castiel said. “We believe with the clues Ezra gave us, that he will have more success.”

“That is good,” Bartholomew said. “Between us we will find a way.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, then hesitated.

“Is there more, Castiel?” Bartholomew asked.

Castiel nodded. “The grace is burning out and, according to Metatron, and what I feel myself, it will kill me. There are arrangements I need to make for after my passing.”

Bartholomew looked solemn. “I understand. I will leave you with Berieah to make the arrangements. Whatever you wish that is possible, you can have, Castiel.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said gratefully.

Bartholomew swept from the room and let the door swing closed behind him.

“What can I do for you, Castiel,” Berieah asked gently.

Castiel straightened and forced his tone to remain even as he said, “There is a heaven that belongs to the Winchesters. The Impala is there with a box of fireworks in the trunk; I believe it is the Fourth of July.”

Castiel had once visited it when Sam was in the Cage when he wanted to gain some peace from the war with Raphael. Though the Winchesters hadn’t been present, Castiel had the feeling it was a particularly special place for them within their shared heaven, and he thought it would be a good place for his eternity, even though he wouldn’t be a part of it.

“I will find it. Would you like your vessel laid to rest there?”

“I would.”

Berieah nodded. “I can arrange that for you.” She paused. “I want to thank you, Castiel. Thanks to you and the Winchesters, Metatron has been caught, and I am confident we will receive full access to Heaven again as a result of it.”

Castiel smiled. “Thank you, Berieah.”

“Is there _anything_ else I can do for you?” she asked. 

“No,” Castiel said. “I think I am done in Heaven for now.” When he was next there, it would just be a vessel.

“Very well. I wish you peace, Castiel.”

Thank you,” Castiel said sincerely. “I appreciate it.”

He turned and walked from the room. His plans in place, he could return to his home and spend what time was left to him with family.

xXx

Castiel and Sam were outside the bunker, sitting together on the steps facing the door. Castiel had asked Sam to come outside so they could speak in private, but now that they were alone, he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of Jessica Moore. 

“Cas, what are those?” Sam asked, breaking the silence, pointing at the sigils Metatron and Gadreel had painted on the walls of the bunker.  

“They are designed to gain entry to a place,” Castiel replied. “They work almost like a battering ram.”

“Huh, that’s why the machines went nuts then,” he said.

“Yes, the power they hold is immense. The bunker is warded to an immense extent. You will be safe here after.” The last slipped from him without thought.

Sam winced and Castiel apologized automatically.

“It’s okay,” Sam said. “I understand what you mean if anyone does.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed. Sam had been in the position of waiting for the end before, and he had made the same choice as Castiel. He understood.

“How did things go in Heaven?” Sam asked, seeming to force his tone to remain even.

“I made the arrangements needed. When it’s time, you need to pray to an angel called Berieah. You met her before.”

“I remember,” Sam said.

“She will take care of everything.”

Sam nodded and drew a deep shaky breath. “Okay.”

Castiel thought perhaps that was the time for him to mention Jessica Moore, too. “Sam, when I was in Heaven, I made a visit to a specific eternity,” he said.

Sam looked at him. “Yeah?”

“Yes. I thought you would like reassurance, so I visited Jessica Moore.”

Sam sucked in a breath. “Is she okay?” he asked in a strained tone. “Did he…”

“She is very well,” Castiel said. “I don’t know if Metatron was telling the truth about Gadreel targeting her for his wrath, but if he did, she shows no ill effects of the experience. She is perfectly at peace.”

“She’s okay,” Sam breathed.

“Yes. Happy.”

Sam wiped at his wet face. “Thank you, Cas. I needed to hear that, now more than ever.”

“You’re very welcome,” Castiel replied.

“Ahem.” Someone cleared their throat behind them, and Sam and Castiel lurched to their feet, turning to look at Crowley who was smiling down at them, a cruel glint in his eyes. 

“Sorry to interrupt the perfect moment,” Crowley said. “But I need a word.”

 “What is it, Crowley?” Castiel asked.

“Shall we go in?” he asked. “I figure Squirrel and the kids will want to hear this, too.”

Sam nodded and moved to knock on the door. After a moment, Dean answered. He took in Sam’s red eyes, Castiel’s frown and Crowley’s smug smile and groaned. “Awesome. You.”

“Me,” Crowley said, pushing past him into the bunker.

Dean hurried after him and Castiel and Sam followed. When they got to the library where Charlie and Kevin were, Crowley said, “Hi, kids.”

“What do you want?” Kevin snarled.

“Got a little info,” Crowley said, “about Abaddon.”

The air in the room filled with tension. With the chase for and defeat of Metatron, Castiel had almost forgotten that there was also a Knight of Hell to deal with. He wondered if he would be able to assist in that fight, if he would even be there anymore when it came.

“What’s she done now?” Dean asked.

“She’s building an army,” Crowley said.

“We knew that already,” Sam said.

“Yes, but I mean literally _building_ an army this time. She’s taking souls from humans and cultivating them into demons before their death. Not hell bound souls,” he said pointedly, sounding almost offended.

“She’s making demons,” Sam said, disgusted.

“Yep. Little minx is getting restless. It’s taking too long to get the numbers she needs.”

“How do you know this?” Dean asked.

“Little birdie told me. And by mean birdie I mean demon. And by told I mean screamed it when I cut off his digits.”

“It tell you anything else?” Sam asked

“Not much,” Crowley said. “Only that she’s got something big planned and he didn’t know what. I don’t like it whatever it is.”

“Obviously,” Dean said. “But what do you expect us to do? We’ve already signed up to be on your side.”

Crowley smiled cruelly. “Didn’t I mention? This ‘big’ plan is something to do with you boys. The demon said he’d heard your name mentioned a few times, and not in an _‘I should invite them to afternoon tea’_ kinda way.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a dark glance.

“So, you’re not jumping to the Abaddon ship?” Crowley asked.

“No,” Sam and Dean said in unison. “Why would we do that?” Sam added.

Crowley shrugged. “You make all kinds of dumb choices. I just want to be sure.”

“We’re keeping the deal,” Dean said. “We’re with you.”

“Good,” Crowley said. “Which means you boys need to be extra careful. If she’s got her eyes on you, it’s not good.”

“No shit,” Dean growled. 

“We’ll be careful,” Sam said seriously.

Crowley nodded. “You better be. I don’t care a damn about either of you, of course, but I don’t want to lose an ally because you didn’t look both ways before crossing the street.”

Castiel looked at his friends and his brow creased with worry. What use could Abaddon put them to, and what could he do to help them when he was running out of time as it was?

It was only a matter of days later that Castiel discovered there was absolutely nothing he could do to help.   


	26. Chapter 26

Dean heard voices as he approached the library, and he checked his watch in surprise. It was early for other people to be up already, except for Castiel who was awake all the time—though he did rest during the night in the bedroom they’d set up for him, reading or watching TV.

Dean had given up on the idea of sleep after the third time he’d awoken from a nightmare of laying out Castiel’s dead body with Sam. Sleep didn’t provide any rest when you were being tortured. He’d planned on starting some coffee and prepping some food for when the others woke, but judging by the voices he could hear coming from the library, Charlie and Kevin were already awake.

He wandered into the room and saw Charlie and Kevin sitting at one of the long tables. Kevin had the tablet and a notepad in front of him, and Charlie was peering at the notes. Dean had spent long enough trying to make sense of Kevin’s squiggled symbols and cryptic notes to be impressed that Charlie could apparently read what they said.

“Have you—“ he started, but Kevin held up one hand and said, “Wait!”

“He’s been saying that for thirty minutes now,” Charlie informed him.

Dean felt a flicker of excitement. “Have you found something, Kev?”

“I said wait,” Kevin said without looking up from the tablet.

Charlie shrugged helplessly.

“Have you been at this all night?” he asked her.

“Not all night,” she said. “We were pulling an all-nighter on the Playstation before Kev had a fit of conscience and decided to come stare at the tablet a while. He started gibbering a while ago, and now he just keeps telling me to wait.”

It certainly sounded like something, Dean thought.

“Think I should get the others?” Dean asked.

Charlie nodded.

Dean strode back to the living quarters of the bunker and slammed a hand on Sam’s bedroom door first then wandered further along to Castiel’s room. Before he could reach the door though, Castiel opened it and said, “Is everything okay?”

Had he always looked so tired? Dean wondered. Despite being an angel, Castiel had never been a pillar of heavenly magnificence the way they were painted, but Dean didn’t remember his eyes being quite so tired and his skin hadn’t had that pallor.

“Dean?” Castiel prompted, interrupting Dean’s assessment. “What’s wrong?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say, “You are,” but he controlled himself and pasted on a smile. “I think Kev’s found something on the tablet.”

Castiel’s eyes glinted with excitement. “He has?”

“Well, so far all he’s doing is telling us to wait, but it’s looking hopeful. Figured you and Sam should be there, too.”  

“Yes,” Castiel said eagerly. “We should.”  

He pushed past Dean and hurried along the corridor. Dean went back to Sam’s room and slapped the door again. “Sammy!”

“Yeah, coming,” Sam called back.

When Dean got back to the library, he found Kevin still hunched low over the tablet and Castiel leaning over the table, trying to read Kevin’s notes upside down.

Castiel started to speak Kevin’s name, but Kevin cut him off with, “One more minute, Cas.”

Castiel nodded and glanced at the fancy mantle clock on the bookshelf. Dean would have pointed out that Kevin probably didn’t actually mean a technical minute, but Sam came in then and drew his attention.

Dean knew at once he wasn’t the only one having nightmares. Sam’s eyes found Castiel at once, and his slight look of relief became a frown as he took in the angel’s condition. Sam himself didn’t look that healthy either. His eyes were shadowed and he was pale, sure signs he wasn’t sleeping well enough. 

After a long minute, Kevin straightened up. He looked wild-eyed and a little wired, like he’d had too much caffeine.

“Well,” Castiel said. “Have you found something?”

“Yeah,” Kevin said. “I think I have. It’s not much, and it might not even work, but I think…”  He drew a deep breath and said, “I think I’ve found the way back into Heaven.”

Charlie clapped him on the back. “Woohoo, Kev!”

Castiel seemed to fill with life. His face flushed with color and his back straightened out of the slump. “How?”

“Okay,” Kevin said, becoming serious. “Metatron said that it was something no reaper, human or angel would sacrifice, right?”

“Yes,” Castiel said.

“Well here’s a spell that uses all three beings to— _‘Return that which was banished from the pure.’”_

“That is Heaven,” Castiel said at once. “Heaven is purity. When angels are there, we’re without the constraints of our vessels. We are pure grace. Human souls are there without bodies—they’re pure. It is _pure_ creation _._ ”

Dean felt the passion in his voice reaching him, too. Even though he had visited Heaven and seen it was not all he’d hoped for, he couldn’t help but feel some awe at the way Castiel spoke about it. He understood then that it was Castiel’s home in a way the earth and bunker could never be. Rather than making him sad that Castiel was separate to them in this small way, he felt happiness that there was somewhere that made Castiel feel like that.

“So, it’s the right spell,” Sam said. “What are the ingredients? Where do the reapers and angels come in?”

“We need a _‘Death’s good right hand’._ That has to mean a reaper, right?”

“Or it means the Horseman’s actual right hand,” Dean said dourly. “Which would be perfect as he’s not our number one fan.”

“We’ll assume reaper, though,” Sam said, “as that’s who Metatron said had to make the sacrifice. What else, Kev?”

“An angel’s _‘pride, freedom and face’,_ ” he answered, looking at Castiel. “Ideas?”

Castiel looked nauseated. “Wings,” he said. “The spell requires an angel’s wings.”

“You sure?” Sam asked. “That’s a pretty bold ask.”

“No bolder than an angel’s grace,” he replied, “Our wings are our pride. They denote power and rank. And the face… It’s humans that are preoccupied with faces, not angels, as our faces are not our own when we’re earthbound. Our wings are though. Both in Heaven and on earth, you see the wings more than you see the face to recognize each other.”

Dean had always thought of wings as the thing that made angels what they were. He’d never considered the fact they were what made them _who_ they were, too. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea of not seeing faces. But he glanced at Sam then and understood. When he’d been trying to connect with Sam after Gadreel had been expelled, he had seen the connection between him and Sam as a rope of light. He had _known_ it was Sam without the face. It had been natural recognition to him. He supposed it worked similarly for the angels.

“Okay,” Charlie said. “What about the human part?”

“That one’s harder. We need a _‘soul on the path to purity’._ I don’t know. It could mean a saint the way it did when we were going after the Leviathans, or it could mean…” Kevin shrugged, “pretty much anyone truly good and pure.”

“Because people like that are so easy to come by,” Charlie said humorlessly.

That was precisely the problem, Dean thought. The reaper part was workable, as they had Tessa who could help them, but no angel was doing let them clip its wings and where were they supposed to find a ‘pure’ human?

“You are over-thinking this,” Castiel said. “You’re forgetting who created the tablet.”

“Metatron,” Charlie said knowledgably.

“No. God,” Castiel corrected. “He was the one that wanted His work to be protected so He had Metatron write the tablets for Him. They are His words. Remember, Heaven is purity, so a soul on the path to purity means a Heaven bound soul.”

“Oh,” Dean said, feeling slightly stupid for not seeing that himself.  

“So we get all these things, what do we do next?” Sam asked.

“I think we stick them in a bowl, say the magic words, and poof, Heaven is open for business again.”

“Slow down, Harry Potter,” Dean said.

“Really, Dean,” Charlie said impatiently. “Wizards don’t stick things in bowls and say magic words.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione, am I disrespecting your religious beliefs?”

Charlie looked mutinous. “First of all: yes, you are. And second: Hermione rocks, so you totally just complimented me.”

“I don’t mind that,” Dean said, casting her a smile, which she returned.

“First things first,” Castiel said, redirecting Dean’s attention to the problem at hand. “We need to contact Tessa.”

“Missouri,” Sam said. “That’s who hooked us up with her before. I’ll make the call.”

Charlie cleared her throat. “You might want to wait a while. It’s kinda crazy early still.”

Sam nodded and Dean cleared his throat. “I’ll get breakfast started then.”

xXx

Though Missouri arrived less than an hour after they’d called her, with Tessa in tow, she apologized for making them wait when Dean opened the door to her.

She stepped past him into the bunker and said, “Whooee, look at this place. You boys sure landed on your feet.”

“It’s home,” Dean said modestly.

“Some home.”

 She made her way down the stairs at a trot and then strode straight through to the library where the others were gathered. Dean heard her greeting them all by name, including Castiel and Kevin whom she’d never met before.

Tessa stepped over the threshold tentatively, and then smiled at Dean. “Your Men of Letters weren’t afraid of reapers then.”

“Guess not,” Dean said. “This place was supposed to be warded against everything,”

“Perhaps they were not afraid of death,” she said, “knowing that it is a part of the natural cycle for everyone.”

Dean wondered if she was referring to Castiel. Did she know something more than they did? Did angels even get reaped when they died? Where did they go? That question brought a lump to his throat and he had to swallow repeatedly to force it down. He considered asking Tessa some of his questions, but he was almost afraid of the answer. What if there was nothing for Castiel after?

He rushed down the steps and into the library.  

Kevin and Charlie were pouring out coffee into mugs and Missouri was whispering to Sam, her hand on his arm.

“Guys, this is Tessa,” Dean said. “Tessa, this is Kevin and Charlie.”

“Nice to meet you,” Charlie said brightly. Dean had to admire her verve for life, greeting a reaper with her usual friendliness.

“You want coffee?” Kevin asked. “Do reapers even drink coffee? Do you drink anything?”

“I do drink, but I do not want coffee,” Tessa said politely. “I would very much like to get to work.”

Dean picked up the notes they’d made of what was on the tablet and what they’d deduced from it. “Okay, we’re pretty sure we need a Heaven bound soul and an angel’s wings,” he said. “But for the reaper part we’ve got, _‘Death’s good right hand’._  We’re really hoping that doesn’t mean the real Death, as he’s not a fan right now.”

“No,” Tessa said, glancing at Sam. “He wouldn’t be.”

“Do you know what it means?” Sam asked her.

“It means this,” Tessa said, holding out her right hand. For a moment Dean thought she meant it literally meant her actual hand, but then he looked closer and saw there was a tattoo like mark on her hand—similar to the one that had been on the cupid’s as a bow. He peered closer and saw it was a short-handled scythe.  

“Awesome,” Dean said. “That was easy.”

Tessa smiled sadly.

“It’s not easy?” he guessed. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem is that to give you that is to sacrifice everything,” Missouri said.

Dean turned stunned eyes on her. “What?”

“To give up my scythe is to give up myself as a reaper,” Tessa said. “I would no longer be the being I have been since the birth of humanity. It means to become human.”

Castiel, who had been standing with Sam, a silent observer, sucked in a shocked breath.

“Oh,” Dean breathed. Their simple plan had just become a lot more complicated.

“I can do it,” Tessa said bracingly. “It will not be a problem.”

“Tessa,” Castiel said with gentle familiarity Dean didn’t expect. “Do you appreciate what you are saying?”

“I do,” she answered. “And I am prepared.”

 “You cannot be,” Castiel said.

Dean was surprised Castiel was taking this approach when he wanted to open Heaven more than any of them.

Tessa gave Castiel a strange smile. “This is not what happened to you, Castiel. I am giving it up willingly. How can I refuse with everything I know? I have been living with the screams of the veil in my mind for months now. I have the power to help free those trapped souls. I am ready to be free of the mantle of reaper and live as a human.”

“You will age and die,” Castiel pointed out.

“Yes,” she said simply. “Death is nothing to fear though, is it?”

Castiel considered her words carefully and then nodded. “No, there is nothing to fear.”

Dean glanced at Sam and saw he had taken the same meaning from what Castiel was saying and it burned him the same way it did Dean.

 “That’s the scythe then,” Charlie said, her voice sad. “What about the heaven bound soul?”

“I can help there, too,” Tessa said. “There is a wealth of souls in the veil, all of them bound for Heaven. I am certain I can find one that is willing to be free.”

“But they won’t be free, will they?” Sam asked. “They will be wiped out?”

“Yes,” Tessa said. “But oblivion would be better than what they are living as now.”

Missouri nodded. “They’re crying out, Sam, desperate for peace. We can give that to one of them, and through them, the others can have Heaven.”

Sam looked sad but he didn’t speak anymore.

“Okay then,” Dean said. “We’ve got two of the three. We still need an angel’s wings.”

“I can…” Castiel started, but Dean spoke over him. “No. No way. You’re already losing enough. I will not let you lose your wings, too.”

“It would make sense to take mine, Dean, and you know it. I am already destined for an end.”

“No!” Dean snapped, swiping his hand through the air. “I will not let you do it.”

Castiel smiled slightly. “Very well, though I wasn’t going to suggest my own this time anyway. I was thinking that I could use another’s—Metatron’s.”

Dean grinned wickedly. “I think that’s an _awesome_ idea.”

“Good,” Castiel said. “I will need to go to Heaven again, of course, but it will not take long.”

“I will take you to the portal,” Tessa said, “and then I can retrieve the soul when we’re back.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said. “I would appreciate that.”

He and Tessa made for the door, and Sam called after them, “Cas, taking an angel’s wings, that’s going to hurt like hell for them, right?”

“Yes,” Castiel said with satisfaction. “The longer it takes, the worse it will be.”

“Good,” Sam said brutally. “Take your time.”

xXx

Dean was anxious for Castiel and Tessa’s return. With so much riding on what they were doing, he wanted them together and ready. The feeling was compounded by the fact that they knew now whose soul was going to be used for the spell.

While they were gone, Missouri set herself up with the Ouija board and, with great strain, searched for a willing soul. She had barely asked before someone offered themselves up, and Dean realized when she said the name that he should have realized who it would be that came forward. Irv.

Missouri didn’t need to explain his motivation; Dean knew already. He was trying to make amends for what happened with Abaddon. There was no need, as Dean had told him, but he was determined and immovable. Though it felt right that it was a hunter who made the sacrifice—that was what they did—Dean wished it hadn’t needed to be his friend.

When there was a knock at the door, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Sam went to answer it, and a moment later, Tessa and Castiel returned. In Castiel’s hand was a glass jar with swirling, blue-white light inside. Dean didn’t know what he had expected Metatron’s wings to look like, perhaps as repulsive as the man himself, but they were beautiful. He couldn’t take his eyes from them until Castiel set the jar down on the table and cleared his throat.

“I understand you have a willing soul,” he said.

“Yeah,” Sam said sadly. “Irv.”

Castiel nodded. “He will be remembered for this.”

Perhaps, Dean thought, but for how long? When Sam and Dean, Charlie and Kevin were gone, who would remember the name? Once it would have been Castiel that would remember, but he would be gone, too.

Dean cleared his throat roughly, and Sam raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. Dean nodded. He was okay.

“I will retrieve the soul,” Tessa said. “And then we can take my scythe and perform the spell.”

“Okay,” Dean said, the gravity of the moment settling over him. This was one of the biggest things they’d ever done without killing, and it seemed to weigh on Dean’s shoulders.

Tessa closed her eyes and bright light seemed to spill from her. Dean shielded his eyes and only uncovered them when he felt the heat die down.

Irv was standing next to Tessa. He looked pale, grayish, and tired, but he was there.

“Hey, Dean, Sam,” he said. 

“Irv,” Sam said in a sad voice, and Dean nodded wordlessly. He had no idea what to say.

“Are you sure you’re ready to do this?” Missouri asked him.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Irv said. “I am more than ready for peace and I am doing something good with this.

“You’re doing something _incredible_ ,” Dean corrected. “And we appreciate it more than we can say.”

Irv smiled. “Let’s get to it then.”

Missouri fixed her eyes on Tessa. “Are you positive you want to do this?”

“Yes,” Tessa said. “I am ready for peace, too.”

Missouri nodded. “Okay them.”

“Castiel, if you would…” Tessa said,

Castiel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial. It looked like it could hold a belt of whiskey and nothing more.

Castiel held it out to Sam and said, “Hold onto it for a moment.” His blade slipped into his hand and he bought the tip to Tessa’s right palm. With an apologetic glance, he made a small circular cut around the tattoo mark. Bright light spilled from the wound and Castiel caught it in the vial. Tessa began to crumple, and Dean rushed forward and caught her as she slumped toward the floor.

“Tessa!” he said harshly.

“She’s okay,” Missouri said, coming forward and stroking Tessa’s hair. “She just needs a moment to rest. Perhaps in one of your rooms?”

Dean hefted her into his arms and carried her through to his own bedroom. He set her down carefully on his bed, adjusted her so she looked comfortable, and then left her to her rest, rushing back into the library, leery of missing anything.

Nothing had changed in the room other than the increased tension and a copper bowl and candles set on the table. As Dean entered, Castiel turned to Irv and said, “If you are ready?”

“I am,” Irv said.

Sam lit the candles and stepped back as Castiel carried the vial and jar over to the table. He uncapped the vial and poured the contents into the bowl. They settled on the bottom, like bright white gas. Castiel murmured something in Enochian and then reached for the jar. He opened and tipped it over the bowl. The contents seemed reluctant to leave their jar this time. Castiel had to scoop them out with the tip of his angel blade. When they were all in the bowl, mixing with Tessa’s scythe, Castiel addressed Irv. “Thank you for this, Irving. We owe you a great debt.”

Irv grinned. “Shame I’ll never be able to collect. Would have been good to get a favor from an angel.”

“Be at peace,” Castiel said, and then chanted something in Enochian.

Irv seemed to fade into smoke which siphoned itself into the bowl. The contents swirled and bubbled and Castiel drew a deep breath before raising his voice and calling out in Enochian. “Opan kahn has!”

Light poured from the bowl, overflowing like smoke and Castiel called out, “Close your eyes!”

Dean’s arm came up to cover his eyes again and he winced as heat burned his skin. It seemed to last forever, before Castiel said, “You can look now.”

Dean lowered his arm and looked at the now empty and charred bowl.

“Well?” Kevin said impatiently. “Did it work?”

Castiel and Missouri exchanged a satisfied look and Missouri nodded. “I can feel them passing on now.”

“And I can feel the call of home,” Castiel said, his voice exultant.

Kevin laughed and he and Charlie high-fived. “Go, Kevin!” Charlie cheered.   

“Yes,” Castiel said, turning to him. “Thank you, Kevin.”

Kevin looked pleased but embarrassed.

“So, Cas,” Charlie said. “You got the call of home. You going back?”

“No,” Castiel said peacefully, “I am already home.”


	27. Chapter 27

Sam was leaning back in his chair, beer in hand and smile on his face. He was listening to the chatter around him and feeling almost peaceful. He glanced at Castiel, the reason complete peace evaded him, and saw he was smiling though looking slightly confused as Kevin and Charlie enthusiastically explained one of the video games they’d been playing recently. Dean was listening too, a fond smile on his face.

Sam took a draw on his beer and tipped his head back, staring up at the high ceiling and just enjoying the moment. It was as good as things were going to be for them from now on, he thought.

“Tessa!” Dean said, surprise in his voice.

Sam let his chair drop back to all fours and looked across and saw Missouri and Tessa coming into the room.

Tessa smiled at them, “Hello.”

“How are you?” Sam asked.

She considered before answering. “Different.”

She certainly looked it. As they came deeper into the room, Sam got a good look at her. Her eyes, which had always seemed timeless to Sam, were clear and bright, full of wonder that he had never seen when she had been a reaper. She looked human now.

She came and took a seat between Sam and Dean, and Sam noticed how her movements were precise.

“I’ll get us some tea,” Missouri said. “I bought all the fixings with me.” She went to her handbag where it hung from the back of her chair and pulled out a baggie of what looked like dried grass clippings and leaves.

“Hell no!” Dean said loudly.

Missouri raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me, Dean Winchester?”

Dean looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, Missouri, but if this going to be Tessa’s first drink as a human, it should be a good one.”

Missouri put her hands on her hips. “Are you saying there’s something wrong with my tea?”

“I’m sure it’s great when it’s not laced with Ambien,” he replied. “But she should start as she means to go on—with a good time.” He pulled a beer from the six-pack in front of him, twisted off the cap, and handed it to Tessa. “Enjoy.”

Tessa took a nervous sip and then grinned. “It tastes so different now.”

Castiel nodded sagely. “Everything will.”

Tessa took a deeper draw. “It’s good.”

“Of course it is,” Dean said. “Beer is one of the things us humans are good at.”

Kevin perked up. “If you want a human experience, you need to try one of Dean’s hamburgers.”

“Oooh, yeah,” Charlie said excitedly. “You definitely need them in your life.”

Dean looked pleased at their enthusiasm, but his voice was reluctant as he said, “I guess I could fix some…”

“Please, Dean.” Charlie fixed her imploring eyes on him.

“Stop teasing,” Missouri scolded. “You know you’ve already decided.”

Dean grinned and stood up. “Burgers all around?” At their nods, he said, “Awesome. Sammy, you can be my assistant.”

Sam grabbed his beer and followed Dean out of the room. When they got to the kitchen, Dean went straight to the fridge and began searching the shelves.

“Burgers might be an issue,” he said after a moment

“Why?” Sam asked.

“Well, I’m good, but even I can’t make beef burgers without the beef.” He peered over his shoulder at Sam. “We’re out of pretty much everything.”

“No problem,” Sam said. “I’ll go to the store. Write me a list of everything we need.”

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a hero, Sam.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah. Sure.”

Dean grabbed the magnetic notepad from the fridge and began scrawling a list for Sam.

Sam leaned against the counter and thought about what Dean had said. He wasn’t a hero. The great acts in his life were to make up for the great failings. But there were heroes in his life, like Dean and Castiel. Tessa was one, too. She had given up everything she knew for the sake of Heaven. That was huge.

Sam wondered what her life would be now. She must have incredible knowledge of the world, and her body wasn’t that old; she could make a really good life for herself. He wondered if she was going to stick around with them or go with Missouri. He thought Missouri was the more likely choice. Life at the bunker wasn’t exactly peaceful most of the time, though that would change now that Metatron and Gadreel had been dealt with. It was the Abaddon fight that came next, and that was on Crowley, with Sam and Dean’s support if there was anything they could do. But Kevin and Charlie…

He gasped and Dean looked up. “What?”

“We’re done,” Sam said in a surprised tone.

Dean frowned. “With what?”

“The tablets, I mean. Metatron and Gadreel are done. Heaven is open. There’s nothing else we need the tablets for. What’s Kevin going to do now?”

Dean looked surprised, and Sam was sure he’d not realized this before he mentioned it. “I don’t know,” he said. “I mean he can do what he wants, right? Wow. He really can do what he wants. He could go back to school now.”

Sam felt a pang of pain at the idea of losing Kevin’s presence in the bunker, but he nodded and forced a smile. “I think he’d like that.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Charlie can help with the whole fudging a record for him and finances—she can keep skimming the corporate pot. That’s something we’ll need to sort out for Tessa, too, actually. Man, this is new territory for us.”

Sam realized it was, and it shouldn’t have been. They should have done it all for Castiel, too. Why hadn’t they thought of it? They had been preoccupied with Abaddon and Metatron, and Dean with Gadreel, but they should have thought about their friend.

Dean jotted a couple more items on his list and handed it over. Seeing Sam’s discomfort, he said, “We’ll fix it, Sammy.”

And though Sam knew there was no way of fixing it now, it was too late for Castiel to be helped or saved, he nodded and said, “Sure we will,” confidently.

He tucked the list in his jeans pocket and made for the door, Dean following.

His dour mood faded as he passed through the library and heard Charlie’s cheerful voice saying, “Seriously! A handmaiden!”

Dean groaned, “Charlie, you better not be talking about what I think you are.”

Charlie looked unabashed and Sam laughed. He clapped Dean on the shoulder and said, “Be right back,” waved to the others and made for the door.

He was feeling good again as he scaled the stairs and opened the door. The sun momentarily dazzled him, so he didn’t see her at first. The door had swung closed behind him and he was blinking rapidly to bring his gaze into focus when he heard her sultry voice saying, “Well, Winchester, it’s nice to see you again.”

A jolt of shock rocked through him. “Abaddon!”

The sun moved behind a cloud and he saw her standing at the top of the stairs. Sam cursed the fact he hadn’t brought a weapon with him, though what weapon would work against her he didn’t know.

For a moment, he considered shouting for help, but he disregarded the urge. The only one inside the bunker that had a chance of fighting her was Castiel, and he wasn’t at full power. It was much more likely she would kill him, and Sam would not take any of the days remaining from him. He would not risk her getting at the others or the contents of the bunker either. He would handle this alone.  Sam walked up the stairs toward her, straight-backed and proud.

She looked him up and down as if assessing him. “Hmm, not bad.” She reached forward and tore at his shirt, exposing his tattoo with the scar running through it, breaking the perfect lines that protected him.

She laughed. “Oh, this is too good. I was going to use your brother, but here you are, unprotected and ready for action. You’ll do just nicely. My free pass.”

“No!” Sam breathed, understanding at once. She could kill him, he could handle that. She could torture him even, but he could not bear to be possessed again. He could not lose control of his own body and keep his sanity.

“Oh yes,” she whispered. Her head flew back and smoke began to pour from her mouth.

“No!” Sam bellowed, then he felt the smoke pouring into him and he could speak no more. He felt himself being overpowered from fingertips to toes, and he despaired.

“Oh yes,” she said again, though this time the words came from Sam’s mouth with Sam’s voice. “This will do just nicely.”

Sam heard the bolts on the door being disengaged, and he cried out within his mind, terrified for whichever of his friends or family were coming for him.

“I don’t think so,” Abaddon said, and Sam felt a lurch as they vanished just as the door creaked open.

xXx

“I wasn’t really a handmaiden,” Dean said. “It was just what we told this dick Boltar the Furious, who, incidentally, turned out to be using fairy magic to kill people because he was in love with Charlie. When it came down to the actual fight, I was a General, right Charlie?”

“Yeah you were,” she said indulgently. “Complete with Braveheart speech.”

Kevin raised an eyebrow and Dean glared at him, daring him to speak. That speech was a classic and Dean had rocked it. There was no shame in borrowing from the greats.

“It was pretty awesome,” Charlie went on. “And it worked—we kicked ass.”

“Yeah we did,” Dean said leaning back in his seat.

“This is a regular occurrence, this Moondoor?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah, we’ve been absent lately, what with world saving to do, but we’re getting back to it.”

“I would like to see—“ Castiel cut off suddenly and his eyes widened. “Sam!” He leaped to his feet and raced out of the room.

Dean was on his feet and following before he ever realized what he was doing. Castiel ran up the stairs and yanked open the door, rushing out, and Dean was at his back a moment later. The first thing he saw was Abaddon lying prone on the dirt at the top of the steps.

“Shit!” Dean gasped, slamming the door shut to stop anyone that he could hear racing up the stairs coming out after him into danger.

Castiel approached Abaddon slowly, tentatively, and Dean called out a warning. “Cas, no!”

Castiel ignored him. His expression serious, he reached down and turned Abaddon onto her back. She rolled limply, no resistance.

“Is she dead?” Dean asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Castiel said.

Dean breathed out a shaky breath and raked her body with his eyes. He could see no wound or mark on her that would explain her end.

“What do you think happened?” he asked.  

Castiel looked at him, his expression odd in the circumstances of victory; it was sorrowful. “This is not Abaddon, Dean,” he said.

“What?”

“This is an empty vessel. Abaddon left her.”

Dean’s mind took a while to catch up, unwilling to accept the truth. “Then where is… No!”

Castiel nodded. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“No!” Dean shouted. “She can’t.” His hands came up to pull at his hair. “He can’t… It will…” The words he could not speak rushed through his mind, _“It will break him.”_ Sam would not be able to handle losing control of himself again. After Lucifer, after Gadreel, it would destroy him.

Castiel looked as horrified as Dean felt but when he spoke, his tone was one of forced calm. “He is strong, Dean.”

“Not strong enough,” Dean moaned.

“Yes!” Castiel said firmly. “He is. He will hold out.”

“Until what?” Dean asked. “How do we get him back?”

Castiel pushed past him and hammered his fist on the door. It opened at once and Charlie’s scared face appeared in the crack. Castiel pushed past her into the bunker and Dean followed on leaden feet.

“What’s happened?” Charlie asked.

Neither Castiel nor Dean answered. Dean didn’t have the words or strength to say it aloud, to make what had happened real.  Missouri gasped though, and Dean knew she had heard it in his thoughts. “No!” she moaned.

Dean staggered down the stairs and Castiel pushed him toward a chair; he collapsed into it.

“What happened?” Charlie asked, her voice demanding now.

“Abaddon has taken Sam,” Castiel said, his voice despairing.

“What? No!”

“Are you sure?” Kevin asked tremulously.

“Positive,” Castiel said. 

Dean bowed over and covered his face with his hands. He could not handle this. He felt like he was being torn apart and burned all over at the same time.

“What do we do?” Charlie asked.

That was the problem. Dean didn’t know. They had no weapon to use against Abaddon, and even if they did, they couldn’t use it on Sam. Henry had said the Men of Letters had tried to exorcise her, and it hadn’t worked.  They couldn’t get her out of him. Their only hope was that Sam regain control himself as John had done when Yellow-Eyes was in him, and as Bobby had done.

“First, we find him,” Castiel said, seeming to gain confidence and calm as Dean lost his own.

“How?” Dean asked.

“We use the allies we have,” Castiel said. “We need the angels and Crowley. Kevin, please pray to Bartholomew, he will listen to you as a prophet.”

Kevin looked doubtful. “Do I have to do anything special, like say amen?”

“Just address him by name,” Castiel said. “Tell him I need to see him urgently. Ask him to call me when he reaches earth again.”

Kevin raised his eyes heavenward and said, “Uh, Bartholomew, it’s Kevin Tran, the prophet. We need help. Cas says can you call him? Uh… Thank you.”

“Dean, call Crowley,” Castiel commanded. “He will answer for you.”

Dean looked up at him blearily. “What can he do?”

“He can help us,” Castiel said firmly.

Feeling like he was moving on autopilot, Dean pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Crowley’s number. A moment later, Crowley’s cheerful voice answered. “Squirrel, what can I do for you?”

“I need you to come,” Dean said in a dead voice.

“What’s happened?” Crowley asked, no concern in his tone, just curiosity.

“Just come,” Dean said, cutting the call and dropping his hands back to his lap.

“Dean Winchester,” Missouri said firmly. “Look at me.”

 Something about the command in her voice made Dean look up and pay attention to the room.

“Stop!” she commanded. “You’re the one with the most to lose in this room, and you’re giving up. This is Sam! You have to fight for him, do you understand me? You cannot give up. Sam needs you.”

“No,” Dean said in a defeated tone. “Sam needs a miracle.” He stood on shaky legs and made for the door.

“Where are you going?”

Dean didn’t answer her. There was nothing to say.

xXx

Dean stood by the burning pyre of Josie Sands and blinked away the smoke that was making his eyes burn and tear.

He had built the pyre on autopilot, not particularly caring for the poor woman that Abaddon had trashed, merely doing it because it was something that needed to be done and something he _could_ do.

He heard someone coming but he didn’t bother to look to see who it was or to wipe at the tears at his face. What was the point anyway?

“Dean,” Castiel said, coming to stand beside him, staring at him intently. 

“What?”

“We need you,” he said. “Charlie has had an idea, and we need your help.”

“Yeah?” he asked, unable to find any interest or curiosity for Charlie’s idea.

“We think we can utilize the weather patterns and nature signs to trace Abaddon the way your friend Ash did before when you were hunting Azazel. Charlie believes she can create a program for the computer, but she needs to know the parameters your father worked with.”

“The journal,” Dean said tonelessly. “It’s in my bedroom on the desk. It’s all in there.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said then he paused.

“Something else you want, Cas?” he asked.

“This is not Sam’s body,” Castiel said. “Sam is still alive.”

“I know,” Dean said dully. Sam was alive but trapped inside his own body by an incredibly powerful demon, with little hope of rescue.

“And yet you’re out here burning a stranger instead of fighting to save your brother. How does that make sense?”

Dean turned haunted eyes on him. “It’s all I can do. I don’t know what to do for Sam. Even if we find Abaddon, how do we get her out? Be honest, Cas, do you see this ending well for him?”

“I do,” Castiel said. “Because Sam is strong and so is your bond.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Dean asked.

Castiel frowned. “When you’re ready to fight for him, too, as we all are, I will tell you.”

Dean turned away. He knew Castiel was just trying to lure him into going back into that bunker, not seeing that Dean could hardly bear to be there, seeing Sam in every corner.

He was going to stay out here and burn this body, lay it to rest, because _that_ he could do.


	28. Chapter 28

Crowley didn’t spend his life waiting for calls for help from the Winchesters, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a treat when they came along.

He tucked the phone back in the inside pocket of his overcoat and stood up from his throne.

“Sir?” the demon proffering the clipboard to him said tentatively. “Is there a problem?”

“Mortal enemies need a little help with something,” he said. “I’ll be back soon.”

“But, Sir, we have many more items to bring to your attention, and there are eleven demons waiting for an audience with you.”

“Wait is the word,” Crowley said. “I don’t expect you to understand, Marius, but being King is about more than signing contracts and dealing with petty squabbles. I have a responsibility to myself to take pleasures when they come along.”

“And the Winchesters offer you pleasure?” Marius asked sounding appalled.

Crowley sighed. It was hard being the only intelligent demon in existence. “Not in that way, you bloody fool.”

“Then how?”

“Yes, Crowley, how?” Sam Winchester said from behind the door.

“Moose!” Crowley said happily. “I just had a call from your brother. You two have a bit of a spat or are you playing hide and…?” He trailed off as Sam pushed open the doors and entered the room. Only it wasn’t Sam Winchester. It was Abaddon running the switches and Sam was stuffed down inside. “Seriously, Moose? Again? Do you like being a meat puppet, is that it?”

“He might,” Abaddon said. “I didn’t bother to ask.”

So that explained Dean’s call. Once again the big lummox had gotten himself into trouble. And what trouble it was. They didn’t have much chance of coming out of this one on top, but that wasn’t Crowley’s concern. He was worried for himself. If Abaddon was out in public again, that meant she had something up her sleeve.

“Sir?” Marius said in a querulous voice.

Crowley waved an airy hand and the demon fled.

“Nice loyal demon you’ve got there, Crowley,” Abaddon said. 

Deciding civil was the way to go, Crowley ignored her statement, sat down again and leaned back in his throne. Looking hopefully casual and in control of the situation he asked, “What can I do for you then?”

Abaddon smiled strangely. She looked triumphant. “You can hand over that throne and die like a good demon.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, though inside he was rattled. “And why would I give up my throne? I like it. Had it made just for me, perfectly contoured.”

“That’s precisely your problem, Crowley. You think sitting on a throne and giving orders is what a king does. A king fights for what he has—he doesn’t just step into a power vacuum and take over. He earns it.” Abaddon’s lip curled back with disgust. “He doesn’t have thrones made that fit the contours of his ass!”

“They should,” Crowley said lightly. “It’s unbelievably comfortable.”

Abaddon sighed. “You’re an insult to Hell.”

“And you’re a stupid tart in an overgrown meat suit you haven’t got a chance of keeping,” Crowley replied. “You might have him stuffed down now, but Sam Winchester is going to rear up and deal with you. That’s what he does, you know. You heard about his time with your buddy Lucifer, didn’t you? Satan couldn’t hold him down, and unlike you, he was actually scary.”

“I am going to hold onto this one until the end of time.”

Crowley shrugged. “You can try. I’ll enjoy seeing you fail.”

Abaddon smiled strangely. “You have a lot of faith in your friend.”

“Friend!” Crowley snarled. “Take that back!”

"Abaddon laughed. “You can’t fool me, Crowley. That’s why I am here. I am declaring this fight over. You’re going to step aside and let me lead uninhibited by you or your lackeys.”

“And why would I do that?” Crowley asked.

“Because if you don’t, I am going to break this body apart from the inside out. And when it’s wrecked, every bone broken and organ ruptured, I am going to smoke out and leave it to die.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “And I care because…?”

“I know how devoted you are to the Winchesters. I have my spies. I know when they call, you answer. I know you were a part of their fight against that toad Metatron. I know all about it.”

“Hold up,” Crowley said. “You think I’m devoted to the Winchesters?”

“Yes.”

Crowley burst into laughter. He squirmed in his throne as the laughter rolled over him, making his eyes water and his stomach cramp.

“Stop laughing!” Abaddon snapped. “Stop laughing now!”

Her anger made him laugh even harder. It was the most hilariously ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

It took a long time for him to calm himself enough that he could speak, and even then an occasional chortle escaped him. “Abaddon, pet,” he said. “I am about as devoted to the Winchesters as I am to you. I probably care more for you than them, as we’re at least the same species.”

“Then why are you always with them? I am told you answer their calls and summons every time.”

Crowley sighed. “Okay, you’ve obviously not spent much time with humans before, so I’ll break it down for you. Sam and Dean Winchester are _hilarious._ They make the greatest mistakes of anyone ever, and screw up so royally the world suffers, and it never ends. And through that, they’ve got this fabulously complicated co-dependency thing going on, so one of them is almost always suffering because of the other—which I love. Spending time with them is the most entertaining thing I’ve ever found.” He considered. “Besides, there’s sometimes a fight to get in on. You think the fact you’re in Sam Winchester means you win, but you couldn’t be further from the truth. All you’ve done is open up a world of suffering for Dean and I am going to enjoy that.”

“You’re lying. You care for him.”

“If I had some holy oil handy, I’d immolate you right now, love, meat suit and all.” Seeing the doubt, he went on. “I can prove it if you like. You stay there and I’ll get the Molotov. Marius…” he called. “Need some holy oil and a match in here, please.”

Abaddon’s eyes narrowed and he stared impassively.

“Fine. I believe you. But this is not over.”

“Didn’t think it was,” Crowley said cheerfully.

Abaddon turned and marched from the room. When Crowley heard the door slam, he tugged at his collar and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d bake Sam Winchester like a rotisserie chicken without thought for the man, but he didn’t want to piss off the big brother. That would not end well. When there was a Winchester gunning for you in revenge, it was best to keep well out of the way.

He wondered if Abaddon realized that.

xXx

Castiel and Bartholomew walked along the perimeter of the park together, heads bowed and expressions solemn.

“And you are sure she has taken him?” Bartholomew asked.

“Positive,” Castiel said. “I felt the demon move and when we got outside, Sam was gone and her former vessel was there.”

“Dead?”

“Yes.”

Bartholomew tutted. “The Winchesters certainly keep things interesting if nothing else.”

Castiel didn’t answer. He thought it was an unkind comment, but he couldn’t risk insulting Bartholomew and losing his assistance. They needed him and the other angels to save Sam.

“Well, I did tell Sam Winchester that we angels owed him a debt, and I would like to see Abaddon dealt with. She has been a menace much too long. At least the King of Hell knows his place. He even assisted us against Metatron, though I am reasonably certain that was motivated by entertainment more than anything else.”

“He did help us though,” Castiel said.

“Do you think he will help again?”

“I don’t know. He has as much interest in dealing with Abaddon as anyone, but that has been true since her reappearance, and he has yet to make any headway.”

“Still,” Bartholomew said, “we may find a use for him.” He nodded to himself. “Yes, Castiel. You have my word and that of all loyal angels that we will do what we can to save Sam Winchester.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said seriously. “I will tell Dean.”

“One more thing, Castiel,” Bartholomew said. “I assume you know that your time is running out fast now. I can sense it, so you surely can.”

Castiel nodded. “I am aware.”

“Then I would like to offer you… replenishment. I can arrange for more grace for you.”

“No!” Castiel said quickly, then amended. “Thank you, Bartholomew, but I will not take from another angel to sustain myself.”

Bartholomew stared at him for a moment, his expression thoughtful, and then he said, “Very well, Castiel. I will be in touch.”

“I will do the same if I find sign of Abaddon,” Castiel said.

“Good.”

Bartholomew walked away and Castiel made for his car. He felt some hope now that they had the angels on their side, but he doubted that hope would reach Dean through his despair. His friend was suffering greatly, and it was not all his own, which made Castiel worry for Sam even more. His friends were connected in a way an infinitely small number of humans were; that connection was hurting them now. Dean was feeling Sam’s anguish, and Sam would be feeling Dean’s in return.

Kevin and Charlie were impatient because Dean appeared to have given up, but Castiel knew better. Dean hadn’t given up, but his fight was focused on getting him through life minute by minute the way Sam was, and Dean was only feeling a portion of what Sam was.

Castiel was scared for Sam’s mental wellbeing as well as physical now. He wondered how much longer Sam could hang on.

xXx

When Castiel had left the bunker to meet Bartholomew, Dean had been sitting at the laptop staring at the program running as it searched for Abaddon. Before he’d set out, Castiel had made Dean a plate of sandwiches and a large travel mug of coffee. It looked like he had touched neither in Castiel’s absence.

“Dean,” Castiel said, “you need to sustain yourself to fight.”

Dean raised his eyes and Castiel saw he had taken an even greater downturn while he was away. He was pale and his eyes were devoid of life. Castiel felt a surge of worry for both of his friends.

“Not hungry,” Dean said.

Charlie came into the room then. She glanced at Dean and then nodded pointedly to Castiel. “Cas, can you come look at something?”

“Of course,” Castiel said.

Dean didn’t even react as Castiel promised he would be right back and walked away.

He followed Charlie into the kitchen where Kevin was standing leaning against the counter. They both looked solemnly at Castiel.

“What can I do for you?” he asked them.

“You can tell us what’s going on,” Charlie said.

Castiel frowned. “You already know.”

“No, I mean with Dean. This is much worse than when Gadreel had Sam. He’s wrecked.”

Castiel considered. “If I tell you this, you must swear not to tell Dean.”

They both nodded at once and looked attentive.   

“Dean and Sam are soul mates,” Castiel started. “And because of that, they are sharing something right now—emotion. Dean is feeling a part of what Sam is feeling, and that, compounded by his own worry, has rendered him like… this.”

Charlie gasped. “That’s what Sam is feeling, too?”

Castiel shook his head. “No. For Sam it is much worse.”

Tears glinted in her eyes. “How he is he even… you know… alive?”

“He has no choice,” Castiel said. “He is not in control of anything. There is no escape for him.”

“But,” she frowned. “It wasn’t like this last time. Dean wasn’t feeling what Sam felt.”

“No, because Gadreel stuffed him down so deep not even emotion could escape. I cannot be sure, but I assume Abaddon has Sam aware and just below the surface.”

Kevin looked sickened.

“Do not tell Dean,” Castiel reiterated. “It will cause him nothing but more pain to know Sam is suffering the same way he is.”

“We won’t,” Charlie said fervently.

Castiel nodded his satisfaction. “I should get back to Dean.”

He made for the hall, his pace increasing when he heard the banging on the door. His heart sank when he heard Crowley’s voice shouting, “Come on, you bloody idiots. I’ve got news.”

Castiel hurried up the stairs and yanked open the door.

“Feathers,” Crowley greeted, pushing past him and walking through to the library. Castiel followed, noting that Dean didn’t even look mildly interested at the demon’s arrival.

“What is your news?” Castiel asked as Charlie and Kevin appeared beside him.

“I saw Abaddon,” Crowley said perfectly calmly. “In the moose.”

Dean’s head snapped up. “Is he okay?”

“No idea,” Crowley said. “I mean he’s alive, but couldn’t tell you anything else.”

“Why did she come to you?” Dean asked in a cracked voice.

Crowley laughed softly. “She thought she was coming to declare victory, stupid bint. She figured by using the moose as a meat suit, I’d give her a free pass. She actually believed I cared for him.” He rolled his eyes. “Helping you has done nothing for my reputation, you know.”

“Where is she now?” Castiel asked intensely.

“No idea. She popped in, chatted and stomped her feet, and then left when I refused to give up the throne. It was a good time.”

“I’m sure,” Charlie said sarcastically.

“Don’t be getting snotty with me, Ginger,” Crowley said. “I’m doing you a favor filling you in on this.  Thought you’d like to know he’s alive at least.”

Dean moaned.

“Wow, you are a mess,” Crowley said, addressing Dean. “Being soul mates isn’t all fun and games, is it, Squirrel?”

“What?” Dean asked, but before Crowley could answer, his phone rang.

He answered, “This is your King,” and then paused. Castiel concentrated and heard the voice speaking on the other end.

_“Sir, I have news. Abaddon has commanded us to gather. We’re going to storm Hell, Sir.”_

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

_“Yes, Sir. She says it’s time to take what’s ours.”_

“Do you happen to know which entrance she’s using?” Crowley asked.

_“The Devil’s Gate in Wyoming, Sir.”_

Crowley grinned. “Thank you, Celeste. You stay undercover and I will summon you when I need you.”

_“Yes, Sir.”_

Crowley ended the call and said, “Boy, have I got news for you.”

Before Crowley could gloat and hold the others in suspense, Castiel spoke. “Abaddon is going to Hell with her army.”

Dean lurched to his feet. “What? Where? When?”

“The Devil’s Gate in Wyoming,” Castiel said. “I don’t know when.”

“Pretty soon,” Crowley cut in. “She’s got to gather them all first, but, yeah, she’ll be there in a matter of hours.”

“We have to go,” Dean said, his pale face animated now. “We have to stop her.”

Crowley snorted. “And how are you planning on doing that?”

“I’ll talk to Sam,” Dean said. “Make him take control. It worked when Lucifer was in him. It worked for my dad and Bobby. I reached them. I will Sam.”

Castiel felt a flicker of hope. It could work.

“You’ll be killed,” Crowley said neutrally.

“No,” Dean said. “He wouldn’t let Lucifer do it. He won’t let her. Sam’s strong.” He turned to Castiel. “Are you coming?”

As if Castiel would leave him to face this alone. And if it cost his life, it would be worth it to give Dean his chance. 

“Of course,” he said.

“Me too,” Charlie said, and Kevin nodded solemnly.

“No,” Dean said firmly.

“Why not?” Charlie asked. “He’s our family, too.”

“Because you’re the only ones that know,” Dean said. “If we don’t come back, someone has to carry this place on. You have to find hunters that can use the information here and show them how to do it.”

“You’re saying goodbye,” Charlie said, wiping her hand over her face.

“Yes,” Dean said simply.

“You can’t think we’ll let you do this,” Kevin said.

Dean glanced pointedly at Castiel and Castiel understood what he wanted. Regretfully, he pressed his fingers to Charlie’s forehead, sending her to sleep. Dean caught her and eased her to the floor as Kevin shouted inarticulately and made to run. Castiel was too fast. He touched Kevin’s forehead and caught him as he dropped.

“Nice work,” Crowley said approvingly. “Kids would only have gotten in the way anyway.”

“That’s not why we did it,” Castiel said. They had done it to protect them.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Sure you didn’t. Anyway. I’m off. I have an invasion to prepare for.”

He made for the door and Castiel watched him go.

Dean turned to him “You ready for this?”

“Yes,” Castiel said confidently. “Let’s get him back.”

xXx

As they powered towards Wyoming, Castiel leaned back in the seat with his eyes closed and reached for the mind of Bartholomew on angel radio, sure he would be listening now with his promise to help Sam in his mind.

He found him almost at once, and spoke before Bartholomew could say more than his name.

“Bartholomew, we have news of Abaddon and Sam. They are going to be in Wyoming. She is going for the Devil’s Gate with her army. Dean and I are going there now, but we might not be fast enough. Can you stall her?”

 _“I will do what must be done,”_ Bartholomew replied solemnly.   _“All angels will.”_

“Thank you,” Castiel said fervently.

 ** _“_** _We are doing our duty,”_ Bartholomew said,

Castiel open his eyes and turned to Dean. “The angels are prepared to stall her.”

Dean nodded. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, speaking to himself. “We’re all going to be okay.”

Castiel was pleased to hear the positivity in his friend. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was sensing something different in Sam, too, but he hoped so. Sam needed to be strong to fight down Abaddon, and if he was still despairing, it would be much harder.

Castiel returned his attention to angel radio, hoping to discover how close Abaddon was to her goal and if they would make it. He heard Berieah’s voice report, _“The demons are in position, Bartholomew,_ _and the abomination is arriving now.”_

 _“Good,”_ Bartholomew replied. _“You know what to do, all of you. Leave none alive.”_

Castiel’s breath caught in his throat. _‘None alive.’_ Bartholomew couldn’t mean what he thought, surely. He had sworn to help Sam.

Then Castiel felt it, the jolt of grace and power raging through his mind as every angel in Heaven fixed their will on the same thing at the exact same moment—pouring their grace down onto earth.

Suddenly, Dean jolted, and the car veered into the wrong lane.

“Sam!” he bellowed. His hands fell from the steering wheel as if he wasn’t even aware that he was supposed to be driving and he cried out again, as if in mortal agony. “Sam!”

A car horn blared and Castiel saw headlights rushing at them.


	29. Chapter 29

After everything Sam had been through, he thought he’d reached the peak of suffering. He’d believed nothing could be worse than the Cage when it came to pain. He had no idea. He could never have imagined the things Abaddon would do to him.

She didn’t hurt him physically; all her torment was mental. She made him watch as she hurt others, children, infants. He could still feel the blood on his hands, his face, in his eyes. He had screamed but his mouth had laughed as they died at his own hand, and Sam had been an impotent observer, pleading for mercy for her victims—pleas that made her happy for mercy that had not been given.

Sam felt devastation and absolute defeat. He knew there was no chance of rescue for him, there was only death—death that he prayed for. To die was to be freed. If Crowley or Dean found the right weapon, Abaddon would be killed and Sam with her, and that was right, what he needed, as he couldn’t live like this.  He wished for the end more than he had ever wished for anything in life.

Abaddon heard his wishes, she heard his prayers, and she relished them. To her mind, no revenge against him was enough for what they had done to her—dismembering her and burying the parts. She whispered it to him again and again— _“You deserve this, and this is only the beginning. We have forever together now. I will never let you go.”_

Sam howled and she laughed.

And now they were in Wyoming, in the very cemetery Azazel had died in, where he had gotten his first glimpse of Hell, and Sam knew he was going back to the Pit again. The idea didn’t scare him as there was no space left for fear in him. His anguish overpowered everything else.

There were demons all around him: young men and women trapped inside their bodies while the demons ran wild. They stopped running when Abaddon arrived though. They fell respectfully silent and listened as she began a speech Sam knew she had been preparing for a long time.

“We have waited. We have plotted and planned for long enough. It is time for us to go take back what is ours. We will storm the _King’s_ hell and make it our own. We will make it great again! We will…”

There was murmuring and Sam felt Abaddon tense. Something was happening; he could feel it like an approaching storm. Abaddon looked up at the sky, and Sam saw through her gaze the pillar of blue-white light shoot from the sky to earth like lightning. It hit the demon standing closest to Abaddon directly, and she dropped to the grass like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“What…?” Abaddon started, but she trailed off as the next strike came.

 _“The angels,”_ Sam cried triumphantly.

Another demon fell, then another, and another. The light strikes came thick and fast and Abaddon’s army fell one by one. She cried out in anger, and Sam laughed. It was coming. She was going to die. They both were.

The last demon fell and Abaddon looked around at the devastation that had been her army and she screamed, incensed at her loss and Sam’s laughter.

She didn’t seem to realize what was coming next. Sam waited, and then he felt it. The air pressure changed and the light poured down onto him. He expected to feel it burn, but instead it was a drawing sensation, as if something was being pulled from him like poison. It was. His mouth opened without instruction, and the black smoke began to pour out. He thought for a moment it was Abaddon escaping, then, as the last left him, he saw the smoke hit an invisible barrier. It was as if it was caught in a glass orb, it pummeled the edges of the barrier, fighting to be free.

Sam watched, stunned, wind whipping through his hair, as the smoke began to contract and shrink. It grew smaller and smaller, darker, until with a crack like a cannon, it disappeared. Black dust rained down on Sam and he laughed. Abaddon was gone, defeated, and he was alive. The relief after the despair of his captivity was like being reborn. Everything felt new.

“Thank you!” he cried at the sky. “Thank you!”

He felt warmth rush over him and for a moment, he thought it was the angels grace touching on him in return, and then the warmth grew, too hot, burning hot. Light enveloped him and he understood. For a moment he felt betrayed—the angels owed him—but then peace came and he understood. This was right. This was time.

He threw back his head and breathed out his last, and then felt the disconcerting sensation of his body falling while his heart rose. There was warmth, gentle now and welcoming, and then he heard a familiar voice speaking.

“What have you gone and done this time, ya idjit?”

xXx

The car horn blared as the headlights rushed at them. Castiel threw himself over the seat and grabbed the steering wheel, yanking it to the right he swung the car onto the correct lane. It wasn’t fast enough though. The truck coming at them clipped their tail and sent them into a spin. Dean’s head snapped to the side and he cracked his head on the side window, leaving a cobweb of cracks in the glass. He fell unconscious at once, his foot falling from the gas. As they slowed and rolled to a stop, Castiel steered them onto the grass bordering the road. He put on the parking brake and slid closer to Dean to cut the engine.

“Dean! Can you hear me?” he asked.

Dean stirred and groaned. “Sammy?”

Castiel felt a wave of anguish. How was he to tell Dean what had happened?

“It’s me, Castiel,” he said.

“Cas?” Dean’s eyes opened and his gaze was unfocused. “Where’s Sam?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said evasively.

“He was here. I felt…” Dean shook his head and groaned. “Oh, God.”

Castiel reached for Dean’s temple and sent a surge of grace through him, curing the developing concussion. Dean’s eyes cleared but his voice was still vague from shock as he said, “What happened?”

“We almost crashed,” Castiel said. “I think there is some damage, but I have healed you and…” He trailed off as Dean fixed his eyes on him.

“What happened to Sam?”

“What do you remember?” Castiel asked.

“Pain,” Dean said. “It was like something was being torn out of me. It hurt like nothing ever has before. And I felt… Sam…” He drew a shuddering breath. “I think something’s happened to him.”  He blinked and a tear slipped from his eye. He caught it on his finger and looked at it as if he wasn’t sure what it was.

Castiel understood that Dean knew in some part of him that something terrible had happened to Sam, the part that housed the bond between the brothers, but he was unwilling to accept.

“The angels, Dean,” Castiel started tentatively. “They… acted… against Abaddon.”

“She’s dead?” Dean asked.

“I suspect so. It was an incredible amount of power that was used.”

“We have to get there,” Dean said, starting the engine. “To the cemetery.  Sam’ll be… He needs us.”

“Dean…”

“No!” Dean said brutally. “Sam needs us.”

Castiel couldn’t argue. He didn’t have it in his heart. Though he knew what had happened and knew there was no way for a human to have survived, he had seen the Winchesters do magnificent things before and survive against seemingly impossible odds and he couldn’t help but hope Sam would beat the odds again.

 “Yes,” he agreed. “Sam needs us.”

xXx

The closer they got to the cemetery, the paler Dean got, until when they were only a mile away from Sam, Dean had to lurch out of the car to vomit on the grassy knoll at the side of the road.

“What’s going on?” he rasped.

“Smiting sickness,” Castiel said, realization coming to him with the question. He’d not considered this.

“Smiting what?”

“The angels poured their grace to earth to attack Abaddon. That amount of grace in concentration cannot be tolerated by humans. It’s making you sick.”

Dean retched again and made for the car. “Doesn’t matter. Gotta go.” He stumbled and fell when he was almost at the door.

“You can’t,” Castiel said. “Dean, this is more than sickness. This was a nuke of grace, and the fallout is what you are feeling. If you get too close, it will kill you.”

“It’s Sam,” Dean said as if that was answer enough. Castiel supposed to Dean it was. 

Castiel ducked his head. “I know.” But what Dean didn’t know and Castiel thought was almost surely true was that it was too late for Sam already.

Dean grasped the door and tried to pull himself upright. “C’mon. We’ve got to go.”

Castiel saw his friend struggling to get himself into the car and he knew what he had to do. If there was even the slightest chance Sam had somehow made it out alive, he needed his brother to come out to. And if he hadn’t, if he was gone… Castiel couldn’t lose them both. It wasn’t what Sam would want. 

“Let me help,” he said.

Looking grateful, Dean held out a hand to him and Castiel took it. He helped Dean into the car, and then, while Dean took deep breaths to control his nausea, Castiel pressed his fingers to Dean’s forehead and sent him into unconsciousness. He caught him as he crumpled forward in his seat and eased him over so he was lying across the seat. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he said gently, arranging his friend so he looked comfortable and closing the door.

He patted the hood of the Impala and walked away along the road. He hoped Dean would rest a long time, as he was almost sure when he awoke, it would be to a changed and uninhabitable emotional landscape.  

xXx

Castiel saw the small mounds that were bodies in the darkness before he entered the graveyard, and though he saw no upright form—tall and long-haired—he still couldn’t quash the flicker of hope Dean’s certainty had given him. Perhaps Sam was injured but alive. If he was, Castiel could save him. He was sure there was just enough grace left in him now to do that. That would be all, but it would be worth it.

He made his way through the bodies to the very center of the group slowly, searching for a sign of Sam. Then when he saw him, he broke into a run.

Sam was close to the doors to the chapel. He was facing away from Castiel, and Castiel felt hope that he looked unharmed. There was no sign of blood or injury. Surely being the vessel for a smote demon would leave some sign.

It didn’t.

As Castiel rushed around to face Sam, dropping to his knees beside him, he saw that there was no sign of life. His lungs didn’t move; his heart didn’t beat. The blood remained still in his veins.

Sam was gone.

“No!” Castiel moaned.

He had known in his heart that there was no chance for Sam, but Dean had been so certain, desperate to get to his brother that Castiel thought perhaps he could feel something more.

Sam’s hair was over his face. Castiel pushed it back and saw that he looked peaceful. His eyes were closed and lips slightly curved, almost as if he was smiling.

“Oh, Sam.”

Castiel felt a lump form in his throat and he swallowed roughly to clear it. This was not an angel’s reaction; it was a human’s. He was human enough to be able to cry, angel enough to… He gasped. There was no injury to heal, but perhaps there was just enough grace left to return.

His hand trembling, he bought it to the center of Sam’s chest and closed his eyes. “Please, Lord, please let it work.” He focused his grace and poured it into Sam’s chest.

Nothing happened.  Sam remained perfectly still on the ground.

Castiel pulled his hand back and swayed as weakness swept over him. He felt his eyes blur and for a moment there was panic as he realized the grace was almost spent. He did not think of it as wasted though. It had been used to attempt to save Sam, and that was not a waste. It was a need.

He rocked back on his haunches and stared up at the starry sky. “Please,” he begged, knowing he was speaking to a Father that had long since left.

Suddenly a bright pillar of light shot towards him. He panicked, thinking that it was his end coming, and he wasn’t ready, he needed to help Dean, but the light touched down mere inches from him—directly over Sam. The light enveloped him and his body rose into the air. Castiel lurched to his feet, disbelieving of what he was seeing. The light closed around Sam, making him look almost ethereal, and Castiel felt the warmth radiating from him.

“Sam!” he breathed.

The light burgeoned, and Castiel closed his eyes against it, and then he heard the most incredible sound and his heart seemed to leap in his chest. It was a deep, gasping breath, and Sam’s voice, loud and proud, saying his name in awe.

Castiel opened his eyes and saw Sam standing in front of him, straight-backed and tall.

“Sam?” His hand came up to touch Sam’s chest, and Sam smiled. Castiel felt the touch and blood rushing beneath the surface of a living and breathing man.

“Cas, your wings,” Sam whispered. 

Castiel felt it then, warmth moving along his shoulder blades, across his wings to the very tips. He glanced to the side, flexing them forward, and saw the perfect shape of them, iridescent black, whole and healed.

“Cas, they’re…” Sam started. 

“Perfect,” a voice said.

Castiel spun on his heel and saw the angel Joshua standing behind them.

“How?” Castiel breathed.

“God. Who else?” Joshua said.

Sam sucked in a shaky breath at Castiel’s side.

“He has returned,” Castiel said hopefully.

“No,” Joshua said, a little sadly. “He says he has settled a debt.”

“Thank you,” Castiel breathed speaking not to his company but his Father. His wings were incidental; Sam’s salvation was the true blessing for him, even if he could enjoy it only for a limited time.

“There is something else,” Joshua said. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small vial of swirling light. Castiel felt himself being pulled towards it as if there was a hook in his chest.

“That’s my grace,” he said, awestruck. “I thought Metatron…”

“He lied,” Joshua said. “It was hidden well, but God knew.”

He held it out to Castiel who took it in shaking hands.

“Take it back,” Joshua said. “Embrace it.”

Castiel fumbled with the cap and managed to pull it open. The grace poured from the vial immediately, and ebbed and swirled up to Castiel’s face. He heard Joshua say, “Close your eyes, Sam Winchester,” even as the grace poured into him.

Castiel’s eyes squeezed shut and his arms flew out at his sides as he felt the heat rush through him. The weariness he had grown accustomed to disappeared, the tremors in his limbs, the ache of his body. It was all gone. As he opened his eyes again, he saw that his vision was piercing and clear once more. He was whole again.

For a moment, he stood in exultant silence, and then he laughed. “Thank you,” he said again, speaking for himself now. “Father, thank you.”

“His debt is paid,” Joshua said. “Do not expect him to intervene again.”

“We won’t,” Castiel said.

“Good.”

Castiel saw Joshua’s tawny wings open at his back and he took flight away from them. He turned to Sam and saw he was staring at the place Joshua had been with awe. For a moment, he seemed transfixed, and then he snapped back to himself and said, “Dean?”

Castiel smiled. “He’s okay. He is waiting for us.”

With a wordless smile, Sam started for the gate, and then he paused as there was a rush of wings and Bartholomew appeared in front of him.

Bartholomew’s gaze moved from Sam to Castiel, and his eyes were wide. “How?” he asked.

“God,” Sam said stiffly.

“But you…”

“Were killed?” Castiel growled. “Yes, Bartholomew, you killed him.” His blade slipped into his hand and he advanced on his enemy.

Bartholomew looked amused. He didn’t even draw to defend himself. “Will you kill every angel that had a part of it?” he asked. “Will you empty Heaven for _him?”_

“No,” Castiel said. “I will be satisfied with your death.”

He lunged and the tip of his blade pierced Bartholomew’s throat slightly. He looked stunned that Castiel had really done it, and scared. 

“You wouldn’t. Heaven will never accept you if you do this,” he rasped.

“I don’t require Heaven anymore,” Castiel said. “I have another home.”

He jabbed the blade forward, impaling Bartholomew on its length. His eyes bugged as his blood spilled and then blazed with light as life left him. Castiel pulled back and Bartholomew fell to the ground. Ashy marks of perfect wings spread behind him and Castiel nodded his satisfaction.

God had paid his debt, and now Castiel had, too.

He turned to Sam and said, “Let’s get to Dean.”

“Yes,” Sam said with a face splitting smile. “Dean.”

xXx

“Dean.” The name seemed to come to him through a fog. He battled to open his eyes, fighting the influence of Castiel’s forced unconsciousness.

His eyes cracked open and he found that he was lying across the front seat of the Impala. He straightened up and scrubbed a hand over his face. 

 “Dean.”

The voice came again, and Dean knew it was over for him. He had lost his life or mind, because that voice would never speak to him again, he had felt it in his heart. Much as he would have liked to deny it, he knew Sam was dead.

“C’mon, man.”

He stared out of the windshield and saw the two figures walking along the road towards him. He sucked in a breath, understanding at once; he was dead and on the path through Heaven again.

Not even a little sad at his end, he threw open the door and threw himself out.

Sam smiled at him as he stumbled and dragged himself up by holding the side of the car. “Easy, man. Cas said you took quite a knock.”

That explained his death then. Castiel must not have had the juice to heal him properly him after all.

“I’m dead,” he stated.

“No,” Sam said casually, coming to a stop a few feet from him.

“But I felt you…”

“God,” Sam said simply.

Dean knew that was wrong. God didn’t rouse himself for anything, not even the apocalypse.

“It’s true, Dean,” Castiel said. “Sam was returned by my Father.”

Dean took a couple shaky steps forward and reached out a hand to Sam. Sam caught it midway between them and pressed it against his heart—Dean could feel the pounding against his palm. Was it a trick or was it impossibly true?

“I’m here, Dean,” Sam said.

Dean moved his hand from Sam’s chest and pinched his leg hard. It hurt. In a real way, not a Hell way where the pain feels different, wrong.

“You’re real?” he asked.

Sam smiled hugely. “I’m real.”

Dean fell forward and Sam caught him. His hands came up to embrace Dean, and he gripped him tightly. Dean felt it against his chest when Sam laughed, and tears began to burn his eyes. He was overwhelmed and almost angry.

After a long time, Sam released him and Dean quickly wiped his face before pulling back.

His fingers found Sam’s collar and he gripped it hard. “Don’t ever do that again,” he growled.

“Get possessed by a Knight of Hell and smote by a hundred angels?” Sam asked with a quirked brow. “I’ll do my best.”

“No,” Dean said seriously. “Don’t leave.”

Sam nodded soberly. “I won’t. I promise.”

“Good,” Dean said. “That’s… yeah… good.”

Sam glanced along the lines of the Impala and said, “Whoa, what happened?”

Dean turned and saw the deep dent in the rear fender. “Crashed,” he said simply.

Sam grinned at him, his eyes fill of mirth. “Really, Dean, you need to be more careful.”

“She’ll still drive,” Dean said.

“Good,” Sam replied. “Let’s get home.”

Home, Dean thought. Suddenly, with his brother there, alive, and his friend, he realized he wanted nothing more than to be home. 

 


End file.
